


Subway Stranger

by miztrezboo



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, possible strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-23
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9118351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/miztrezboo
Summary: Every day, my eyes search for him. A quick glimpse on a subway platform until I see him at night, in my dreams..." A love story between two strangers in search for something more. For Hmonster. AH





	1. Chapter 1

 

"Tonight I'm tangled in my blanket of clouds, dreaming aloud _"_

~-0-~

I can hear him in the hall, his heavy boot-clad feet stomping off the slushy, poor excuse for snow that started falling an hour before he got home. _He better be taking those things off and not walking that crap down my hall,_ I think and echoed the sentiment over my shoulder from my spot in the kitchen. Continuing to stir the pot filled with my mother's best chicken noodle soup, I hear him call back that he already has and to stop my whining. I chuckle, knowing full well that he wouldn't have removed his boots unless I'd reminded him, we go through the same routine every night he works this shift.

I feel more than see his presence in the room when he enters, the smell of the streets, as well as the lingering scent of his Old Spice aftershave, enveloping me as he rests his head on my shoulder. I lean back into his warmth as his large hand comes down to cover mine, filling the ladle with broth before twisting it around and into his waiting mouth.

"It's hot, babe."

"I know."

I hear him blow on the soup before taking a loud slurp, smacking his lips together at the end. I can't help but smile. He likes to eat and I like to feed him, and when he is happy with what I make, it makes _me_ happy too. It might seem like a simple existence to some, but for me and my beautiful man, it is perfection.

He sighs, nuzzling his nose and lips against my neck and forces my head to tilt to the side, giving him greater access. "Where are the kids?" he asks, pressing his whole body against mine, letting me feel his evident arousal after being apart this long.

I hum, closing my eyes as he takes the spoon out of my hand and places it back in the pot, his teeth nibbling on my earlobe. "Upstairs, doing their homework."

It must have been a good day at the precinct. He always comes home a little _wanting_ if he manages to nab some sort of criminal. The adrenaline rush from chasing down a perp and bringing them back to the station for questioning or, even better, charging them with something that would stick always puts him _in the mood_ when he finally makes it home. Judging by the way his free hand was now slipping around my hip and under my yoga pants, skimming across my stomach – it must have been a very good day indeed.

He hasn't even asked me about mine yet.

"Good," he murmurs, his fingertips toying with the elastic band of my panties. _Freaking tease._ I moan quietly as a warm hand moves over my breast. For such a big guy, he really is wonderfully gentle. He pulls me back toward him, I can feel his badge and belt buckle pressing awkwardly into my skin, yet I don't pull away. These things, the sharp as well as the soft, are all part and parcel of who he is; the man behind the uniform. One of New York's finest, and he's all mine.

"God, you feel good. You smell good, too. New shampoo, baby?" I can feel his breath hot and fast across the back of my neck as he places tender light kisses weaving from one side of my body to the other. My skin tingles with his touch, my hand moves to press his further between my legs. There are times for teasing and there are times like now, where dinner is about ten minutes away and, knowing our luck, one or all of our children will be bounding down the stairs to ask about it.

"Yes," I whimper, trying in vain to remember if he asked me a question or if I was answering my need for his fingers to slip underneath the cotton of my panties.

"Damn, Rosie. You feel so hot." His voice has turned deep, liquid warmth and burnt caramel undertones, all smooth and sweet.

My head lolls back against his broad shoulders as I reach the hand that isn't encouraging his movements south of the border behind me and into his thick mess of dark brown, almost black curls. I caress his scalp gently with my short nails, loving the way that it always makes him groan, an almost animalistic growl that rumbles in his chest.

"Don't stop, don't stop, " I mumble as finally, _finally_ his long thick fingers met slick, silky skin, grazing calloused pads over sensitive flesh.

"You gotta be quiet then, baby. You don't want the kids to know what we're doing, now do you?" He nips at my ear lobe, pressing his aroused length against my ass as his fingers continue their exquisitely slow exploration.

I shake my head, biting down on my lip to stop the moans that are begging to escape. The things my man could do to me. Yet now isn't exactly the time.

"But dinner?" I ask, knowing I really don't mind either way if it burns or not. We can always order in.

"Fuck dinner, baby. I'd rather eat you."

Shivers of want and need run up my spine and spike through my veins, exploding in white heat around my body. He hates cussing at home where the kids can hear, so when he does – _especially_ in situations where it is just us – it turns me on all the more.

_Beep…Beep…Beep…_

Damn it, that means the sourdough rolls I put in the oven earlier are done.

"It can wait." His fingertips are working magic between my legs as his hand massages my breast. He continues tweaking the tight nub between his forefinger and thumb that is straining against the soft fabric of my t-shirt. _Thank god I took my bra off an hour ago._

_Beep…Beep…Beep…_

"But.. _oh, yes… right there…_ but, damn it babe, they'll burn."

"You're burning baby, you're burning me right up."

He can be so cheesy, yet I never care. It is just part of who he is, this perfect blend of silly and sexy that I adore. His fingers speed up their assault and I can't remember why I would worry about a little charcoal on the buns anyway.

"You … _oh god don't stop.. so, so…_ babe, please. Let me get them out."

"You don't need to get them out, Rosie."

His fingers are flying over my excited flesh and I'm panting, yet the beeping won't stop and it is putting me off.

"Just, _ohgodohgodohgodohgod pleaaaaase I'm gonna.."_

"Gonna what, baby? Rosie, it's just your alarm."

My what? Why were his fingers slowing down? Why was the beeping getting all the louder?

"No, don't stop, babe. Please. I need."

"You need to wake up, Rosie. It's Monday."

_What? Why is he stopping? This isn't what I want!_

"That's your alarm, sleepy girl. Time to get up and start your day."

His voice, his arms, his warmth, his touch, fade around me as I am brought slowly back to the present and the awful sound of my alarm clock still beeping.

The inane buzzing continues, loud and annoying against my ear, chasing away the orgasmic bliss I was so close to achieving as I realize where I am. More importantly, where I am not. I'm not married to some extremely gorgeous New York Police officer. I'm not in a kitchen with his magic fingers, or his stunningly large erection pressing eagerly into my backside. No, it is _my_ hand underneath my sleep pants and pressed against moist, heated skin. I smash my fist into the pillow beside me in utter frustration. This isn't fair!

Every night for the past three months I go to bed happy, normal. Nothing but getting a good night's sleep entering my mind as my head hits the pillows. Yet, every morning I wake up three-quarters of the way to pleasure town and, every morning, I don't have time or the imagination to get myself back there. It is all _his_ fault. I extricate my hand from under my pants and slam my palm down over the relentless buzzing object that is the bane of my morning routine.

_Stupid Subway Stranger._ Stupid him in his pretty tailored suits and shiny black shoes and his large hands that are always tugging at the same brightly colored ties that coordinate with the rest of his look. The same large hands that slide through his pretty dark curls, making a virtual birds nest of waves and knots on his head. Damn his piercing blue eyes that I've only caught staring at me once. Well, I was probably exaggerating at catching him staring at me, it was more likely _me_ staring at _him_. He was so damn handsome. There really is no other word for it and every day, as we stand waiting for our trains home on opposite sides of Wall Street station, he only appears even more delectable.

He arrives after I do, walking down the stairs with a smile on his face; a smile I love to see because it causes the twin dimples in his cheeks to deepen as soon as he steps foot onto the platform. He drops his olive messenger bag to the ground unceremoniously and then... then comes my favorite part. His hand comes up to his tie, loosening his windsor knot and tugs at it relentlessly every few minutes between answering his cell phone and popping his iPod earbuds in and out. His face changes from frustrated to calm depending on what technological object he holds to his ear, yet his free hand is never too far away from that knot.

He does it so often, I wonder why he bothers wearing a tie at all. It obviously has to be for work. I mean why else would he wear one? Considering the district we are in, it is virtually a requirement. His broad shoulders and deep chest fit snug in whatever jacket he wears for the day and shifts slightly whenever he paces and discusses whatever it is he discusses on his phone.

Yes, I stare. Gape, gawk even. But damn, if you could see what I see everyday between five and six as we wait for our trains, you would stare too. You might even walk over and make small talk. You might even ask him out for a drink one night after work. You might even exchange cell phone numbers.

Me? I watch. I stalk my Subway Stranger and every night he plays out my fantasies of a career that doesn't involve the ties he seems to hate so much. Every night I live with the thoughts of what it could be like if I was brave enough, willing enough to have any sort of courage to walk over and introduce myself.

Everyday I see him, and in those few minutes before our trains arrive, taking us in opposite directions, I like to believe that he might be interested in me, too.

So, I swing my legs out of bed and head for the shower, knowing that after five o'clock this afternoon, I'll see my dream man in the flesh. Then a few more hours after that, I'll be back in this bed living in the perfect world where he is mine.


	2. Chapter 2

"No harm, no life, no love. No stranger singin' in your name"

~-0-~

"Rosalie? Mr. Yorkie would like to see you in his office."

I sigh, rubbing my aching forehead before answering. "Sure, Angela. I'll just finish this last page off and I'll be there."

"Rosie, I think you better head up here now. He's –" She paused, then returned with a more business like tone, "Yes, Miss Hale, I'll let him know you're on your way."

She hangs up before I can answer. Eric must have been too close for her to say anymore. Great. Just what I need. I'd either made a mistake somewhere - which I knew it couldn't be, my typing skills are impeccable - or i'll hear another lame attempt to ask me out on a date.

How many times does he need to hear me politely say _no_ for it to sink in? I've been brushing him off since a week after he'd started here and I was running out of excuses. I don't think I can get away one more time this month with saying that my roots need a touch up. I never actually have that problem considering I am natural blonde, but that fact appears to slip his mind. Then again, Eric Yorkie, the supervisor of our rag tag bunch in the typing pool, apparently has the memory of a goldfish so I might be okay to give that little white lie another whirl.

Retouching my lipstick I brush back the few stray hairs that have slipped out of the tight bun I always wear, and I brace myself for another of his lecherous innuendo-laden 'chats.' I stand up from my desk, push in my chair, and head down the hall toward what Eric refers to as his office. In truth, it is what could have sufficed as an extra storage space but somehow he's managed to convince someone higher up that it is worth putting a desk in there for him. He really is just a glorified member of the Word Squad, as we like to refer to ourselves. Everyone has to report to someone, I guess, and Eric 'The Weasel' Yorkie is our someone.

Heading down the hall, I make sure the top button on my scarlet blouse is secure, no need to give him any ideas. I usually wear something less… bright to work, preferring to keep my office wear all muted tones so I can blend in with the scenery. Today though, I reached for something in the back of my closet after this morning's highly sexual yet extremely unsatisfying dream starring the Subway Stranger, this time with him in what appeared to be the role of Doug and me as Carol in an alternate world episode of ER having some seriously inappropriate doctor/nurse interactions behind a thin curtain. I wasn't completely sold on the idea of him being a doctor, they still had to wear ties on the odd occasion – but I did have a George Clooney fetish, so it still all worked in my favor.

If I can't get up the courage to ask Subway Stranger out - and with being out of the dating game more than ten years now, I really didn't have much faith in my flirting skills anymore – then at least I could dress in a way that made me feel good. Sexy, even. I hadn't planned, however, on walking into Weasel's office and having his beady little eyes behind those awful coke bottle glasses talk at my chest like he always does. Really, my shirt was literally like waving a red flag at a raging bull. _So much for feeling slightly siren-ish today_. Ten minutes alone with Weasel and I'd definitely want a shower… with bleach.

Angela smiles at me with pity in her eyes, mouthing 'sorry' as I round the corner past her cubicle. I roll my eyes and shake my head, letting her know I'm okay with it. It isn't like she can help the fact that Weasel just won't take no for an answer. I knock on the door, remembering at the last minute that he likes us to announce our presence and wait for his okay to come in.

With a curt 'enter', I take a deep breath and open the door. I force myself not to giggle as I enter his office, noticing he has the chair turned to face the tiny excuse for a window against the back wall. It is hidden by filing cabinets and document boxes so that only a sliver of sunlight shines through. Facing his chair toward that small slice of light is another little game of 'I am more important than you.' Like I really need a reminder. If only he knew that if I wanted to, I could be one of the people in the floor above him that _sent_ him work. Not the other way around.

But I'm not and it is my choice, so I clear my throat and wait for the asshat to turn around.

"Rosalie, do you know why I called you in here today?"

The urge to make faces behind his back is great with his usual holier than thou attitude in his tone of voice.

"No, Eric-" he clears his throat and I bite back a sigh, "No, _Mr. Yorkie_. I can't think of any reason."

The fact that he can get away with saying _my_ name and yet I have to refer to him by a title doesn't escape me.

"Well," he slowly turns in his chair, one stubby leg crossed over the other, his hands resting idly on the armrests, "It's pretty obvious that you are unaware of the mistakes that you've been making, quite regularly in fact."

I wrack my brain for what the hell he could be talking about, coming up with nothing. I am one of the best girls he has down here. I finish my work faster than anyone else, am here on time and leave late if necessary, and besides that, I actually know about the documents we are typing up. I might not have taken the bar, but I still took every damn test and passed with flying colors when I graduated Harvard Law school nearly eight years ago.

I know for a fact that Eric Yorkie hasn't even driven _past_ Harvard, let alone set foot in any college that has a respectable Law school attached to it. If I let my eyes wander two feet to my right I'd see his basic business degree that he obviously thought was enough to lord whatever little power he has over me.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Yorkie, but I really don't understand what you're trying to point out here."

"Of course you don't." he smiles and I feel my stomach turn as his eyes roam across my chest, a slight frown forms over his high forehead as he realizes that there really is no flesh on show for him today.

"It's come to my attention that you've had a few typos lately in your work. In particular, the Jones and Wagner file."

"What typos exactly are you referring to, Mr. Yorkie?" I feel my fingernails press into my palms as I try to contain myself. I know there was nothing wrong with my work. He has to be making shit up.

"Rosalie, I'm really trying to look out for you. If someone higher up noticed that you'd been changing legal documentation on your own whim, it really wouldn't bode well for your career here."

"What. Typos. Mr. Yorkie."

He flips open the plain folder and turns it around to face me. I step closer, having remained standing because I thought this would be a quick "No, I have plans forever on Friday nights, thank you very much," not him attacking my work.

"This here, and here, and again here. The whole document you've exchanged words from the original. It might seem like you are helping trying to make the contract "sound pretty," Rosalie, but these words are extremely important and written by people who actually know what they are talking about."

I lean over and check the differences between my version and the one sent down from someone upstairs. I can see what he means and I realize that he is right – in one way. Yes, I'd changed the wording, but it was whatever junior upstairs that had been in charge of typing this out that had gotten it wrong. I know financial law backward and forward and the mistake _they_ have made that _I_ have corrected would have caused more drama for the company if I hadn't.

He raises a fuzzy brow in my direction, looking smug as hell with what he believes is my mistake. I however... I can't say a word. I've hidden my Law degree, hidden the fact that I should be upstairs in an office with a view of the city I called home, not a picture of the it as my screen saver. I've hidden the fact that I could have taken the bar and been a qualified, practicing attorney earning far more working eighty hour weeks, not the forty I was. It was my choice not to reveal any of those things. It was my choice, and by making it, I also have to face the fact that I have to look like I don't know what he was talking about. I have to pretend that there are no differences between refinancing and recapitalization. A simple wording mistake that could be taken differently and have the legal department scurrying to rework contracts that I have already written.

I have two choices. I can reveal what I know, or I can let him believe I was wrong and continue with lying to myself and to everyone else.

"I apologize, Mr. Yorkie. I guess I was a little confused from the first draft. It won't happen again, _sir_."

Lying it is then.

"Just don't make a habit out of it, Rosalie."

It would be wrong to jump across this desk and bitch slap that smug look right off his face. Instead, I smile and when he makes no further comments and doesn't look back at my cleavage instead of my eyes, I realize that was me being dismissed.

Jackass.

I leave his office, closing the door quietly behind me, and catch Ang's eyes on my way past. She tilts her head toward the lunch room and I give her quick nod and head that way instead of back toward my desk.

It isn't surprising to see the room vacant at this hour of the day. Usually there is at least someone in here having a cup of coffee or grabbing a stale donut, but it's Friday, and for some reason we all like to work our asses off hoping to leave early. I usually do the same, but Eric's little 'chat' has pissed me off and I am even more annoyed at my life situation than normal.

I just finish adding creamer to Ang's cup when she walks in and sits down at the small circular table.

"So, what did he say this time?" Ang sighs, thanking me with a smile as I place our mugs on the table. She pulls out a zip lock bag filled with my favorite purple foil-covered guilty delights and throws it on the table between us.

"Oh, just some bullshit about me changing documents when I shouldn't be. He stared at my chest the entire time. I knew I shouldn't have worn this top this morning. It just screams look at the girls and not at my face."

Ang rolls her eyes before popping a Kiss in her mouth. I do the same and manage to stifle a moan of pure indulgence as the bitter chocolate melts on my tongue. This is exactly what I need.

After we both take a minute and a sip of our coffee each, Ang starts up again. "Your blouse is fine, Rosie. You think maybe tonight after work you'll join us?"

I unwrap another of the violet foil packages and think over her request. Every Friday a few of the nicer girls in our pool head down to one of the local bars where they have a sort of open mic karaoke night on Fridays. They've asked for as long as I can remember, and for as long as I can remember, I've politely declined.

I have obligations. I have reasons that I have to be home. Not that any of them know that…

And that's why the answer is always, "Sorry, Ang. Another time."

She snorts and nearly inhales her coffee but nods anyway. "One day Miss Hale, you will end up having a drink with me and letting that pretty blonde hair down!"

"So how are things with Ben?" I ask, hoping to steer the conversation away from me and onto Ang's latest love interest. It does, and we spend the rest of our quick break discussing Ang breaking her third date rule of no hanky panky. She says she'll pop by my desk at four to see if I've changed my mind and we go our separate ways.

The rest of my day doesn't fare any better to lift my mood after the meeting with Weasel. My computer freezes halfway through a document change and I waste an hour and a half on the phone with one of the tech guys attempting to fix it. By the time I can actually log in, I find that the last automatic save hasn't actually 'saved' any of my work. Four hours and a thirty seven page document gone, poof. I work through my lunch to get it rewritten, only to find that in the time it has taken me to do that, a whole new draft has come down from some asswad in the offices above.

I want to kick and scream and pout. I want to ring whoever A. Maddigan is upstairs and ream them out about these last minute changes. Then Weasel emails me that the new and perfected file nees to be complete before I leave for the day, and I just know any chance of getting out on time is totally out the window. That pisses me off further, knowing that I'll miss my 'date' with my dark haired god. I get more and more agitated as five o'clock comes and goes and I picture him on his side of the station, tugging at whatever tie it is he's worn today and for one tiny fraction of a second, I let myself wonder if he'll miss me too.

Then I realize how foolish that is, considering I've never spoken a word to the man let alone actually given him a casual smile. My heart pangs with that thought and, as usual, I bury myself in my work to forget about the possibilities that I know I just can't handle. Soon enough time flies by and I breath a sigh of relief at six forty-eight when I hit the send button on the doc and leave the office I've spent far too much time in today.

As I gather my things I notice that, yet again on a Friday, I am the last one here. Fantastic. I really do look like I have no life. Another reason why I'll never be game enough to talk to my tall, dark and handsome. Who'd want to date someone as boring as me? I grab my bag and head for the elevators and soon to the streets, the subway, then home.

Well, that had been the plan, but like all my great plans for today, more has to go wrong. The elevator fails to close its doors again on the third floor when it stops for a cleaner. Which, in turn, leaves me to walk down the stairs to the lobby in my- ridiculous-for-walking-normally-anyway- six-inch black stilettos. Suffice to say, when I eventually make my way out to the street and down to the Subway only to find my train is going to be over thirty minutes late due to some service problem, I am not in the best of moods.

I could cab it. I could even bus it back to Brooklyn, but I just don't feel like it. I want to act my age again. Want for just one night not to have to think about everything I should be doing. Want to forget that I have responsibilities not only to myself, but to people that rely on me. I quickly shoot a text off to my sisters husband, and let him know I won't be home for awhile. He asks if he and Esme need to wait up. I grin, raising my hand for a cab and text back that I won't be that long.

A minute or two later a familiar yellow cab pulls up and I sit myself down in the back, hoping he isn't the chatty kind because I really am not in the mood. I give him the directions to what I hope is the right address and sit back, watching the city turn from business into evening class. The outfits changing subtly from corporate serious to night time playful with just the removal of a jacket or a few buttons left undone. The thought of ties being loosened reminds me once more of my Subway Stranger and what he might be doing in the city right now.

Probably heading out with his super model girlfriend to some swanky private bar, not anywhere that has beer on tap and an amateur hour, that was for sure. Before I know it, the cab is slowing and I am giving him exact cash and a decent tip, he didn't speak much or I didn't listen which suited me fine. I step out onto the sidewalk and make my way into Charlie's Place, with thoughts of tie-less strangers - maybe someone with dark curls, blue eyes and a sexy dimpled grin - dancing through my head.


	3. Chapter 3

"He plays an old guitar with a coin found by the phone"

~-0-~

The first thing I taste is the stale and almost sweaty air that this bar has recirculating through its vents.

I look around the darkened room, a few warm subtle lights are peppered throughout, and for the life of me can't find anyone from work, not even that weird guy that eats lunch on his own out of a brown paper sack. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, because of _course_ I'd be at the wrong place - this was my day from hell, after all.

There are a few seats empty at the bar so I take one that's close enough to see the stage but not be the focus of the crowd that is slowly building. A cute guy in a tight black shirt, with ice blue eyes and blond, spiky hair - obviously far too much product - smiles at me and asks what I'll have to drink. For a moment I think he's trying to pick me up, and as the usual put down falls from my lips, he chuckles and points to the insignia on the left side of his chest right about where his heart would be.

It reads _Charlie's Place_ with his name, Mike, underneath and I realize he's a member of the staff.

Just like my ego needed another blow tonight.

He laughs at my apology, claiming people do it all the time and it's okay, it's how he met his boyfriend of two years, anyway. Mike must see the change in my demeanor - from uptight and protective to relaxed - because he pats my hand, telling me he'll fix me something and informs me that I'm safe with him.

Which, really, is probably the best thing I will hear tonight.

It's also kind of sad really, considering I'm actually happy that the first guy in forever to talk to me outside of work or family obligations isn't into women at all.

I really _do_ need to get out more.

There aren't that many people at the bar and, for the next hour, Mike and I chat and let the two waitresses do most of the work. Mike, it turns out, is really sweet and, thankfully, likes talking about himself a lot more than asking me about my life. It's nice to just listen and laugh at someone else's problems for once and, as Mike continues to place whiskey sours in front of me one after another, time passes quickly.

All of a sudden, the dim lights are darkened even further and a spectrum of multicolour lights shine on the small stage. Before I can ask Mike what exactly is going on, a white spotlight shines on the microphone and a familiar toned body with gelled hair out the wazoo - my bartender for the evening - is welcoming the crowd to another karaoke night at Charlie's. While I've been drinking, I haven't even noticed that the bar has filled. Nearly every seat is taken, as well anywhere vacant for standing.

I'm kind of happy I came in when I did earlier, because there is no way I would have bothered pushing through all these bodies if I arrived now. I like crowds about as much as I like going out with the girls for end of week drinks. In other words, not much at all.

Mike introduces the first act of the night, a rather demure looking girl with frizzy brown curls and if it wasn't for her vintage Jimmy Choos, I would have assumed she was a man based on the rest of her outfit.

Then she opened her mouth and sang.

All. Woman. Power.

I've never heard anyone sing Aretha Franklin's "Respect" with quite so much gusto. Everyone is cheering and clapping and I gather Jessica is a regular. Mike thanks her for an amazing opening and then calls the next name on his list. This huge, brawny guy with muscles surely on _top_ of the muscles he already has makes his way through the crowd and I expect him to open with maybe some Mellencamp, or even The Boss.

What we get is the most moving version of "Bridge over Troubled Water" I've ever heard. Everyone is silent as he holds the last note pitch perfect and then the entire bar erupts in applause. I can make out one word, _Felix_ , being chanted over and over.

Then the word _encore_ follows _Felix_ and before Mike and his little clipboard can continue with the next victim - Mike's word not mine - Felix is ripping into an almost violent version of "Black Betty."

The bar shakes as everyone joins in and even I can't help but sing along. At the end, Mike does wander out and, with a cautious smile in Felix's direction, takes over the mic and calls the next name.

And so it goes on for I don't even know how long. In Mike's absence, Vicky has been pouring my drinks and I know that I'm going to need the ladies room soon because no one can drink as much as I have without needing to break the seal.

I hate breaking the seal.

I hate waiting in lines, too, but breaking the seal means more lines so I tell Vicky to switch me over to ice chips - thus providing me with an anti hangover cure for the following morning and a little sobriety - I hope.

It's about a quarter to eleven and Mike and the crowd are now pleading for someone named Ben to join the stage. Apparently someone has added his name to the list without his knowledge and Mike pleads with the crowd to woo him with promises that we'll all be kind.

I can hear some wolf whistling and the standard jeering from across the room and for a second the spotlight flashes in the direction of the cat callers.

It takes me a moment in my slightly blurry-eyed state to focus, but when I do, I see the girls from work and realize that Ben, now talking to the guy at the piano, is also Angela's Ben. I've found them after all, or they've found me. Whatever the case, I'm kind of glad to see familiar faces, even though they are way across the bar from me and I don't have a hope in hell of teetering over to where they are without falling on my ass at least once, so I stay put.

Ben has a good voice. He keeps the crowd happy with a 'love dedication' to his girl and I fight a nauseous roll in my stomach. It's only when the opening keys to "Tiny Dancer" are played that I start giggling and the entire bar is singing along like we're a hundred strong membership of Stillwater on Doris the tour bus in Almost Famous. There's even an extremely drunk hairy guy who gets on stage with Ben and acts out the Russell Hammond roof scene by stealing the mic, proclaiming he's a golden god and diving into the audience.

It's a poorly played out plan because the inebriated crowd parts like the red sea and the tubby bearded man falls flat on his face. I'm now laughing so hard I actually fall off my stool, knocking into a suit. He helps me up, his hand resting on my elbow a little longer than I deem necessary and, before this twinkly brown eyed wonder in Armani can say a word to me, I shake him off and turn away from him in my now righted seat.

Suits. You can't trust them.

It took me a while in my youth to see past the romantic idealism of a well tailored wool suit with silk ties and a double breasted jacket. What was that saying? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me?

I _was_ that saying.

Which was funny because, for some reason, my Subway Stranger is the epitome of what I now loathe. Yet suits on him, ties on him, they're sexy. Maybe it's the way he always looks like he wants to take it off rather than put it on that makes him so different.

I know that I, for one, would love to help him with the removal of said thousand-dollar office wear.

I live through a version of Miley Cyrus's "The Climb" and a hacked up version of Coldplay's "Yellow" and then Mike announces the final act of the evening.

The crowd really starts to get loud, whistles and hoots aplenty, and they're banging on tabletops while repeating a name, much like they did with Felix earlier on, so I assume that is who they're chanting for. Mike announces that this is the one they've all been waiting for, and the stage darkens. The only light in the bar comes from above where I'm sitting - presumably so the bar staff can see what they're pouring and count their cash.

Everyone quietens, and you can almost hear a pin drop. Well, you certainly can hear a few clinking glasses, but otherwise it's quiet. There's almost a hush of anticipation and, just as I'm on the edge of my seat, throwing the last of my ice chunks in my mouth, a guitar is strummed and this voice is softly singing.

"I'm hanging on, here until I'm gone. I'm right where I belong just hanging on."

Full. Body. Shivers.

A second voice joins the first and their light harmony is mesmerizing.

"Even though, I watched you come and go. How was I to know, you'd steal the show."

I'm entranced and I can't even see who this liquid sex voice is coming from. It's making the hairs on my arms stand on end and, if I'm not mistaken, there is definitely a headlight problem going on in the front of my silk shirt.

Thank god it's unnoticeable with the entire club cloaked in darkness.

"One day I'll have enough to gamble. I'll wait to hear your final call, and bet it all."

I lick my lips and wish I could breathe quieter because these lyrics that I love, being sung by this... sex god voice… are beautiful. I lean forward in my seat as a blue light cuts through the black and I can make out shapes on the stage.

"I'm hanging on, here until I'm gone. I'm right where I belong, just hanging on."

The blue is joined by a green and I can faintly see the side of a face, a sharp jaw and broad shoulders and hair that is _everywhere_ , almost glowing in the twin lights. He's got an acoustic guitar resting on his knee and, as the key changes, the mood lighting casts his fingers an otherwordly pale turquoise as they play over the fret board.

Fuck. Me.

Sex god voice, that could most likely sing a nun out of her habit, and he plays a guitar.

 _Why_ _have I never come out with the girls before?_

I suddenly have no reasonable answer for that.

"You'll ask for walls, I'll build them higher. We'll lie in shadows of them all. I'd stand but they're much too tall, and I fall..."

The lights flash on brightly with the crescendo, a wall of loud sound. Electric guitar and cymbals crash, and the smooth velvety sex sound is now a rumbling roar.

I'm fairly certain I'm squirming in wet panties on this bar stool. My whole body is _aching_ to know this voice, to feel it on my skin. From the sweet, slow rumble in the beginning to the intense animalistic growl and shout from natural highs. I want that voice whispering warmly in my ear of all the things he's going to do to me, and I want him to wake up the neighborhood calling my name, just like he pours everything into the chorus of this song.

I, Rosalie Lillian Hale, am in lust with a voice.

It's then I realize that I've somehow managed to close my eyes during this almost orgasmic experience, and when I open them...

When I open them, I can't believe who the sex sounds belong to.

_Him._

My Subway Stranger.

Sans tie - and I automatically wonder where it is.

Sans top three buttons of a crisp white shirt - enough space to see a smattering of chest hair peek through. The sleeves are rolled up just enough to hint at well formed biceps. The tendons in his forearms flex, catching the now white lights that surround him on the stage as he and his little band of three tear into the last part of the song.

I'm on my feet. I'm watching him.

Staring, really.

I will him to stop staring at the floor, stop staring at the microphone low in front of him where his gorgeous dark brown curls have fallen across his forehead, hiding his eyes from mine.

Not that I believe he could see me across the room from where he is.

But it's relatively safe for my ogling and plus...

Now I've heard him sing.

I need to see his eyes, I need to feel more of a connection.

Just as I'm giving up on that idea, he raises his head.

"FEBRUARY STARS! FLOATING IN THE DARK!"

It's like he's singing just to me. The next three repetitions he sings, growls, roars, fucks me with his voice and those deep blue eyes are only on mine.

The moments between each syllable and chord become longer and longer as I can't break our gaze. The wide grin on my face actually hurts. I force the muscles into shapes they haven't had to make in a flirtatious way for such long time. I hope to god I'm not drooling because this. is. fucking. hot.

My heart is pounding against my chest, its imprint I'm sure is going to be permanently fixed with just hearing this song, feeling him sing it at me for the rest of my life. Not that I care because right now, I'd do anything to keep his eyes on mine.

I can almost feel the courage to go and speak to him welling up from the inside out, connecting disused lines of communication in my brain that haven't been needed for ten years, as I keep my eyes on his. My feet actually itch with the need to push my way through the drunken, swaying mob just to get to him. To feel his words caress my flesh as I produce a hand and introduce myself.

He would take it, he would perhaps touch the small of my back and set my body alight with a simple generous offer to buy me a drink. I'd accept and we'd laugh and look at each other some more. I'd ask where his tie was and even as I'm staring at him now during my romantic look at a possible future, I can see the red of it knotted around his arm like some sort of tribal mark.

The song ends and my reverie is broken with the word, "thank you," then he's off the stage and I lose him in the insane crowd. I stand on the little foot rest of my bar stool and push on some guy's shoulder who happens to be lucky enough to be beside me, and I attempt to look over heads to find him as the crowd returns to normal.

But I can't. The body I'm balancing against tells me to get down before I fall. I can't even see Mike in the hubbub of twisting and turning bodies, so I give in and right myself on my chair. I can't breathe. I rest my head on my hands, my elbows on the wooden top that is sticky from my drink and countless others, and I convince myself it's for the best.

I can't have a relationship. I can't have a fling or whatever people my age have.

Not that thirty-two is old, but I guess in the dating game it's getting a little long in the tooth.

At least, that's what it feels like.

I check my phone for the first time tonight and find a message, yet another reason why I shouldn't have been looking for Subway Stranger and his sinful sex sound.

I have responsibilities. I have other people to take into account, other people that look up to me and that I should be setting a standard for.

I settle my tab with Vicky, who hands me a bottle of water for the road.

Not that I need sobering up. I feel quite hollow with my five minutes of real life smacking me in my face. I can even walk straight.

Exiting the bar into the crisp early, early morning air, I wrap my arms around myself and signal a cab, wishing I'd brought a jacket. It'll be a little bit extra to get me all the way home, but at this hour and feeling as low as I do, I just don't care.

On the way back home, the driver has his own music playing. It sounds Middle Eastern, filled with sitars and words I can't understand sung in lilting refrains and, for the first time, I'm incredibly relieved by this. Not being able to recognize familiar words means I won't have to think about what happened in that bar tonight. I won't have to think about him like that, and he can return to just being the Subway Stranger.

The Subway Stranger with a to-die-for orgasmatron of a singing voice, but the Subway Stranger all the same. I head into my building and lean my head against the cool metal of the elevator wall after paying my exorbitant fare. The regular time it takes to reach the top floor, my home away from home, seems even longer than normal now that I'm crashing from the high I had experienced in the bar, and not just from the whiskey. I will definitely feel _that_ when I wake up later.

Finally, the doors open and I walk inside my sister and her husband's home that I share with their three daughters. It's still quiet, and for 4:00 a.m. it should be, but you can never tell with their youngest, Charlotte. She's three and gets into all sorts of mischief including escaping from her bedroom as soon as her eyes open and terrorizing the pantry. She eats all the marshmallows out of the sugary cereal that Carlisle is supposed to keep on a high shelf specifically for that reason. For a forty year old male with a doctorate in dentistry, he is completely clueless when it comes to kids.

I stand at the large picture windows that frame our view over Prospect Park. City lights are still dancing as the sky turns that funky white-blue signifying dawn is well on its way. Yawning, I head up the staircase to what should be the master suite but, seeing as my sister and brother-in-law are the best relatives you could ever ask for, it's mine. They sleep on the main level of the apartment in one of the three bedrooms. Charlotte has her own room while Kate and Irina share. It's not the best living arrangement, but it is what it is, and I know for a fact Kate loves sharing with Irina. She has strange nightmares sometimes and loves that Irina is just on the bunk below her if she gets scared.

I don't bother flicking the light on when I drag myself up the last few stairs. I can see my way around and, after living here for a decade, I can usually maneuver around the place on even the most sleep deprived mornings without stubbing my toe.

I strip off my clothes on the way to the bathroom, brush my teeth, quickly wash my face and it's only as I find my own violet stare in the mirror that I remember another set of eyes that I was lost in tonight. A faint lyric fills my ears, as does his husky tenor, and my heart stutters for a moment. Through the mirror, I catch sight of a lump in my bed through the door and I splash a second handful of cold water on my cheeks.

Stupid ideas.

Stupid Subway Strangers are just going to have to stay that way.

Yet, one week later I'm in another silk shirt, plum with a bow at my waist, and I'm waiting to see if he'll show.

After all, it's Friday, and I know he won't be at the station. Obviously he goes somewhere and, if I'm right and last week wasn't a one off...

He'll be there.

Again, he's the last of the night with his two other 'band members' and this time he's sexing me up with a Steely Dan song.

The next, he has me in tears walking through fields of gold.

The week after, it's a beautiful day and I'm chuckling because someone in the crowd throws him these huge bug-eye glasses and he looks like a fuzzy haired Bono.

The Friday after that I think he actually searches the bar for me before smiling, deep dimples and all, launching into the tale of a love struck Romeo and his Juliet.

That night? That's the night that changes it all.


	4. Chapter 4

"One thing is always true, How good it is to see you"

~-0-~

Buzzed.

I've been literally buzzing in my own skin since Wednesday.

Why Wednesday?

Wednesday was the day I stood within ten feet of Subway Stranger, aka Orgasmatron Voice, and saw how blue his eyes really are.

And, boy, they are even better than I imagine.

I may not have talked to him yet, but he definitely looked at me on Wednesday. Tonight, I dress to the nines just in case he looks my way again.

For the past four weeks we've played this game, or at least I have, of "looking but not seeing each other." It's always when he's on stage singing that I swear I can feel his eyes on me. I scan the bar for his familiar form because I arrive just before Mike calls the first person up to sing, but I've yet to find him in the crowd. I could ask Mike about him; who is he, is it usual for him to sing with his own band accompanying or have these last few weeks been one-offs? I could even ask his name, because when Mike introduces him, it's as the band Still Waters Run Deep. Very apt I think, or maybe not.

He has me so nervous about seeing him for just a few minutes every Friday night, let alone the few minutes every weekday, that I can hardly concentrate and gather my thoughts.

Which has been _great_ for work.

I'd had more of my work sent back in the past month than in the entire time I'd been with the company. I've had to be nothing but saccharine sweet to "The Weasel" and even let him buy me lunch the day I deleted the whole office contact book from the main server. With a twirl of my tongue around the tip of my pen and an extra flutter of my eyelashes, the tech cutie managed to salvage it all in an hour and no one was the wiser. There are benefits to playing up the "dumb blond" stereotype now and then.

Sometimes it is too easy to get what I want, which is why I hate being "that girl." I like to make my way on my own merit, not rely on others. I'd relied on people to take care of me for far too much of my adult life. At home it was needed, but here at work I am my own woman, doing things for myself.

I could blame my lack of concentration and air-head tendencies on my reaction to catching Subway Stranger's eyes this Wednesday afternoon. I smiled, and not just _any_ smile. No, this would be the patent pending Rosalie Hale uber wide, shiny white tooth grin that stretches from ear to ear and says, "Hey there, I'm _very_ happy to see you."

His answering lift of lips revealed those deeply dimpled cheeks and had my heart beating out of my chest like one of those cartoons. _Kaboom Kaboom Kaboom._

Thankfully, the trains came and whisked him north and me south.

I don't know how I would have reacted if he actually made the few short steps over to me to talk.

Would I have been able to speak?

Probably not.

I may have been out of the dating game for a decade, but even I know that caveman grunts and gurgles just won't cut it.

I went to bed that night and, instead of dreaming of my Subway Stranger and his beautiful baby blues and his bulging biceps and chocolate curls in a variety of settings... I dreamed of me on a train and him on the other side, silently asking me something as I pounded on the glass, trying to find a way out.

Needless to say, I didn't really sleep well that night, at all.

Due to this now ruined scene in my one place of escape, I decided it wouldn't hurt to say hi to my mysterious dark-haired man. Just once.

Things were good at home. Work was, well, work was slipping. Maybe if I got this guy out of my system, my life would make sense once more. I could go back to my nighttime land of imagination filled with lifestyles I would never lead. All I had to do was just... talk to him.

Maybe even find out his name.

This becomes my plan for Friday night.

I turn heads at work when I arrive in the morning, even though I had hoped my coat would deter the stares and small talk.

It doesn't, and I even Yorkie stops by my desk, too many times to count, for more than just a casual hello. I push it all aside. The slim fitting navy dress hugging me in all the right places, my hair in a French knot, and killer stilettos that make me even more statuesque given my already five foot six height... all are part of my plan.

Operation One Night Stand.

Because one night would be enough, wouldn't it?

One night of forgetting my responsibilities. Forgetting that I was thirty-two years old and not the carefree young girl I once thought I was. Forgetting that in the past ten years I had to think more about other people than myself, and that they always come first.

Esme and Carlisle have taken the kids for the weekend out to their summer house in preparation for the end of the school year. Esme is a neat freak, nearly OCD in her need to have everything in its place. Every year before they descend upon the Hampton house, the whole family heads to the sprawling beach-side home for a good old-fashioned spring cleaning.

I usually have to work through the entire break, only being able to take off a week or a few long weekends here and there. It isn't perfect, but at least it gets us all out of the city and to the beach. It's a time I both love and loathe because next door to Esme's home is the even larger mansion that belongs to my parents.

Seeing them is always something of a trial and error. Usually, their trial over my errors.

I push that out of my mind, though, because the clock is finally at a quarter to five. Even though I normally stay at my desk until long after everyone else is gone, I'm up and out of my seat and heading toward the bathroom down the hall. I take my larger than normal bag with me because I've smuggled more product than I ever carry in my normal purse just so I can make sure I'm looking my best.

The bathroom is empty and I'm glad because I'm sure what I'm about to do is going to set tongues wagging anyway in our typing pool. I'm known as "No Fun Rosie" for a reason.

I pull my hair down from the knot its been in all day, tipping my head over to shake out my waves and, while I'm down there, shift the 'girls' around so they're sitting at a good height-to-shape ratio. I pull out my near-empty bottle of Versace perfume (my one indulgence, apart from getting my nails done once a month) and spray it liberally over all the important spots. I spritz my hair with this spray that claims to give your hair the "beach-combed look." Esme gave it to me for Christmas and I'm pretty amazed when it actually does what it claims to do. Kohl lines my eyes, making the violet pop and, with a smear of my regular berry lip stain, I'm ready to go.

Well, at least the outside of me is ready. Inside, I'm all anxious butterflies buzzing around in circles like they're all on motorbikes in the Dome of Death.

I think I'd feel more at ease if _I_ was in that dome and not doing what I'm about to do. I tease my hair a little more, twisting a few more strands into waves and curls until I finally can't do anything more or this carefully styled 'messy look' will actually be just messy. I can't put it off any longer.

It's time to go.

When I walk out into the office, just about everyone is gone, which wouldn't be different any other day but I am actually leaving on time, not late, so I'm slightly confused. That soon clears up when I glance at the clock, its already past five. A lot past five.

_I'm running late for my early mark. How wrong is that?_

I take one last look at my tidy workspace, grabbing my coat then I'm out into the hall and waiting for the next elevator to take me downstairs and out into the street below.

As I wait, watching the lights flicker down from the floors above getting closer and closer to where I am, I check my phone. No new messages. No missed phone calls and I breathe because if there's nothing there, all is right in my world. Finally the doors open and the few suits amongst the skirts that I don't know stop their discussion and I grin inwardly because, if I've managed to stop their conversation cold, then I've definitely got on my A game on. It's been so long since I've used these skills, dressing up, not down, that I was admittedly a little afraid I'd lost what originally made men's heads turn in the first place.

Quiet whispers begin again behind me as I shift from foot to foot. I can't keep completely still, I'm far too excited about what I hope to do later in the bar. I am so focused on watching the numbers light up and darken one after the other that, when a suit behind me taps my shoulder, I actually squeal a little.

He apologizes red faced and mumbles something about joining him for a drink but I shake my head, still clutching at my throat because my heart is racing from shock. My reply is curt and to the point as I decline his offer and go back to staring and tapping and willing the brakes to loosen just enough to get us there faster without killing us all.

The rest of the ride is as slow as a snail and I'm reconsidering this stupid plan of mine until the doors open and then I'm out and free and excited once more. I head out the main doors and onto the street, switching my bag and jacket to my other arm as I call for a taxi which I convince myself doesn't scream to a stop in front of me just because I may have shown a little extra leg than normal with the mid-thigh cut of this dress.

I end up sitting on my fingers because I'm constantly touching my hair as the far-too-chatty cab driver zips us through the streets to my second favorite destination, the other one being home. There's a line outside, which I find a little strange but, as I move to take my place with the crowd, the bouncer, some cute kid who I see every week, recognizes me and calls out my name.

I point at myself and he nods and as I get closer to the door I can see Mike standing beside this guy who is a slightly taller and definitely more buff. Mike grins and pulls me into a tight embrace and is talking a mile a minute about what I think is positive notes on my clothes and overall 'look' for the night. He finally lets go and, when he wraps his arm around the big guy beside him, I realize that this must be the boyfriend Mike is always talking about.

"Rosie, this is my Sean," he says. All that's missing are the Disney popping love hearts and blue birds about his head with the look and tone of adoration he's using.

Sean takes my hand, bringing it up to his lips and brushes them gently across my knuckles. With this dashing move, I'm suckered into his hazel eyes and when he whispers (as much as one can whisper on a noisy street in front of a loud club) "Enchanté," I'm ready to swoon.

"I forgot to mention he's French Canadian, didn't I?" Mike whispers into my ear and then in the same breath, "Don't get any ideas about keeping him, he's all mine."

And that's the Mike I've grown to know and love.

He kisses Sean goodbye with a quick peck on the cheek and I swear Sean blushes - or it could be the reflection from the reflection of taillights of a car in the street - and then Mike is dragging me inside before I even realize I haven't paid the cover charge. Mike grabs my coat and tells me he'll meet me at my seat.

My seat.

I, Rosalie Lillian Hale, No Fun Rosie, have a regular seat at a bar.

I feel so very _Cheers-_ like. Except this club isn't at all as small as the one where Sam tended bar. Plus, only Mike, and maybe Vicky, know my name. Definitely not everybody. Definitely not the one person I hope by the end of the night will know my name, if not be calling it as I scream his.

I really do need to get laid.

If all goes to plan, I will, and then this silly obsession with him will be over, and I can go back to being relatively normal once more.

I sit on my stool and I look out over the people, dancing or shmoozing while drinking, and I happily find no familiar faces. So far, I'm saved from discussing work with anyone I know. Then again, I'm also not seeing _him,_ which means I'll be waiting even longer to put my plan into action.

**~o~**

I'm sipping on my regular whiskey sour, only the third I've had, as the crowd is getting antsy. There's with a familiar feeling of anticipation spreading throughout my body, and I know exactly why. When the lights finally fade to black, the audience - because that is what it feels like we are right now - grows quiet. There's a flash of fuchsia and amber, and he's there.

He's there, larger than life with that raw sex sound that is his dark tone, and his curls, those wayward bangs, are yet again hiding his eyes as he begins.

I know the tune, it's one of my favorites. Romeo and Juliet, their tale told all the more sad and true with the licks of guitar, a toy piano and soft drum sounds that Dire Straits once wrote them to. Subway Stranger and his own drummer and bass change the sound slightly, making it their own, and I'm swept away. I forget that I'm here to seduce him and that it's only for one night because, looking at him, seeing him again and feeling this close to him in a crowded room, makes me want a lot of nights.

He lifts his head and looks around the bar, almost as if he's scanning for something, and his face falls a little as he eventually gives up. My face falls in the same manner because I stupidly thought he was looking for me. It's just as the song is winding to a close, but they extend the end because everyone is swaying and nodding and in the groove. It's then that I hear him.

Not singing, just speaking.

"There she is," he sighs and his voice is maybe even sexier than when he sings. I spin around from where Vicky has placed a new drink in my hand and as I do, my eyes meet his.

I'm slightly blinded by the intensity of his lopsided grin and for a second I think it's aimed at me. He's almost burning me with his stare as his bandmates continue the soft sounds that echo toward the end of the song.

"I know you," he says and I feel frozen to the spot.

He can't be talking to me, this bar is full of beautiful women and, even though I'd like to believe that I could, and probably still can, wrap him around my finger and bend him to my will, it seriously can't be me he's pausing a song to chat with. I start to turn back around, deciding that this was a stupid idea in the first place and he "aw's" into the mic. "Don't ignore me now, Subway Girl. Don't pretend you don't know who I am, because I certainly know you."

My skin puckers into goose flesh from the tip of my toes to the tip of my nose and my hand is shaking now as I put my drink down. Vicky is there, cleaning a glass and has this huge knowing smirk on her face, her bright red lips drawn up high almost like the Joker in Batman and it's as I'm making connections with the beautiful Vicky and a cartoon, I realize this man is making me nervous.

It can't be me.

"I don't think she believes me, guys," he says and the crowd repeats his earlier 'aw' but this time it's heightened with giggles. This barely legal girl beside me, wearing far too much perfume, is nudging me.

"Girl, he is so talking about you! Why won't you turn around?"

"Because he's not," I mutter and then I'm gobsmacked because this person who I do not know is twisting my body around, and he smiles as I slap her hand away. Even from this distance, I can see it's a genuine happy grin that echoes in the deep dimples carved in his cheeks and all the way up into his dark eyes.

"I see this beautiful woman every afternoon before I take the subway home. And every night I want to go speak to her, but I'm shy." The crowd interrupts to sigh and I'm tempted to roll my eyes, but instead I giggle. There's no way this guy is _shy_ , sitting up there in amongst a room full of people, singing. _Singing!_

"Imagine my surprise when she starts turning up here where I get to play with the boys one night every week." Someone heckles loudly that I'm a stalker and he laughs and I'm fucking mortified and fairly certain my face is now ghostly white.

Great, now I'm some creepy lurker instead of being the mysterious siren I could have been. Awesome.

"Anyway, this next one, this is for you Subway Girl." he smiles and I manage to smile back at him and I swear he is beaming now like some lighthouse lamp all reflected with mirrors, using its amazing wattage just on me.

Then there's this roar and he's just staring at me. It feels like we're the only two people in the room as I watch him and he watches me.

"How long have I waited here for you, everlong."

There is literally silence, a void and all that is left is his voice.

"Tonight, I throw myself into. And out of the red out of her head she sang."

And I sing, the little do, do, do parts and he smiles even wider and nods his head, even though I'm sure he can't hear a word. We trade parts, he sings and I'm on fire. I can't feel my limbs anymore as he's scorching me with his song choice because there's meaning behind these words. These simple lines, and I'm probably reading too much into them but...

"And I wonder. When I sing along with you, if everything could ever feel this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again."

And then...

"Breathe out, so I can breathe you in. Hold you in."

I want to do that. I want to feel his breath wind around my skin. To feel his words, his sounds searing my flesh as we explore more than just feeling, we _feel_. His eyes are locked on mine, and even when the song gets into a more energetic feel he's still just looking at me and the intensity behind his gaze leaves me as a statue of ashes because he's burned the rest of me away.

The drummer is pounding out the last few beats and I can almost feel them in my bones. Then I realize I _can_ feel them. The girl from before is patting my arm and I turn. She points to my phone vibrating and spinning in circles on the counter. I can't believe I've just left it out there in the open. I pick it up and open it fast because I recognize the name, and it's got my heart pumping again for a completely different reason than why it stopped before.

I lift it to my ear, but I can't make out a thing with the noise of the bar. I end up sliding off my stool and crouching in amongst the skirts and pants and stockings that are like a forest of legs around me. Sticking a finger in my other ear, I press the phone as close as possible against my head and finally I can make out a sound.

"Mom? Mom can you hear me?"

"Yes, Alex? What's wrong?"

"Uncle Carlisle's had a heart attack. We need you Mommy. I need you."


	5. Chapter 5

"An action, a reaction. Distraction, question the fate."

~-0-~

Alex's emotions are wave-like, rushing through the phone and toppling me over.. The cab ride to the hospital consists of my weak attempts to soothe him and find out what happened and what is currently going on, while trying to remain upright. He's scared and alone and that's making me snap at the driver to move his ass. By the time I get to Methodist Hospital on Sixth, just a few blocks from our home, I'm vibrating with unanswered questions.

I'm not exactly as coherent as I want to be; I'm screeching at any of the nurses in the ER to find Carlisle, but it works to my advantage because Alex hears me and comes running out. He wraps his arms around my waist and he sobs against me. I can't get a word out of him, but a nurse who's been waiting for me with him takes us to a private area to speak.

Alex, who hadn't sat in my lap since he was seven, curls himself around me as we listen to Nurse Maggie explain the details. I rub my hand over my son's back and his sobs lessen as she explains what little she knows.

"Your brother-in-law and son were at home when he collapsed in the kitchen. He had been complaining to your son of what he thought to be heartburn, which the doctors now believe to be a minor heart attack."

Before she can say any more, another nurse appears at the door and Maggie excuses herself, promising to return.

I'm reeling. Carlisle has always had a bit of a sweet tooth and enjoys the occasional greasy burger, but the man jogs around Prospect Park every morning before work and goes rowing every Sunday with some old college friends. This feels completely surreal. He's only forty-three, for crying out loud! I'm glad I don't have to call Esme, the hospital having already found her number on Alex's _emergency-only_ cell phone.

I run my hand through Alex's tawny brown locks, a complete mess yet still silky soft, and he finally raises his head to look at me.

 _"Hey baby, are you alright?"_ I sign, even though he can hear me perfectly with the cochlear implant he's had since he was three. The stress of getting here and the thought of him being alone have old habits returning

Alex nods his head, his dark brown eyes are wide and I've never seen him look like this. He signs and speaks at the same time, something he usually only does when he's tired. "Yeah. I didn't know what else to do, Mommy. Uncle Cee and I got back late from baseball practice and then we watched a movie at home, _just us guys,_ he said. We were heading out to the beach house late so Aunt Esme would have less for us to do."

I laugh because I know Carlisle's tactics as well as my sister does. She always plans on him arriving late, and purposefully leaves early with the girls to get the house ready, so Carlisle can 'think' he got out of the heavy lifting. She always makes him clean out the pool and gutters as some sort of punishment.

"He was getting a drink of milk before we left and he kept rubbing his hand over his heart and then he just fell down, Mommy. I remembered what they said in school, you know when the police came to visit?" I nod. Alex had came home only a month ago and told me of his new dream of becoming a police officer instead of a "dinosaur bone collector" which he'd wanted to be since he was five.

"Uncle Cee's eyes were closed and he couldn't say my name so I called 911. The lady on the phone was really nice, she talked to me until I had to open the door for the paramedics. They put him on this big cart thing and I got to ride in the front while they put all these machines on Uncle Cee. It was just like that show you made me watch, Mommy. The one with that guy who played Batman? It was scary, but I tried really hard not to be scared. I was pretty brave, wasn't I?" He smiles shyly and I'm so freaking proud of my son that I can only kiss his brow and squeeze him a little too tightly until he tells me he can't breathe.

I let go and kiss him once more. Alex's grin widens, showing the gap where he lost a tooth a few weeks back.

"Ew, _Mom_. Stop kissing me," he says, wiping at his forehead. I apologize, noticing how 'Mommy' has faded into 'Mom' now that he has finished his story and obviously feels better now that I'm here. Nurse Maggie returns just after I help wipe my lipstick off his skin. She doesn't have any further news except that Carlisle is stable. Esme should be here shortly, and I feel a little more at ease with Nurse Maggie's warm smile and her hand squeezing softly on my arm.

I ask if we can see him, but they're running tests and she hands me paperwork to fill out in the meantime. I fill it out as best I can, but leave most of it for Esme. Alex has calmed down a little, and sits on the chair beside me, his eyes starting to droop as he plays Angry Birds on my iPhone. As much as I want to tell him to stop in case Esme has to get through to me, I don't. He's found a quiet distraction, and I know she'll be here soon.

It's cold in the hospital with my short dress and I kick myself for leaving my jacket back at the club in my rush to get here. Brilliant blue eyes, deep dimples and a voice that could talk me into orgasm flash in front of my eyes and my face flushes with the memory. My night has not ended up how I imagined, at all. No shy introductions. No swapping of names or taxi rides to empty houses, no filling quiet spaces with sighs and moans and more.

Instead, I sit here cold and clinical, and try not to chew on my manicure. My mind works hard to keep it together because the world as I know it, as my family has known it, has fallen apart. As much as the nurse has reassured me it's going to be okay, I won't feel better until Esme is here with us, and we can face our fears together.

Time drags on and finally I hear the tap of heels on highly polished floors. Esme walks through the doors, looking tense and drawn with Charlotte on her hip. Irina and Kate lag behind, holding hands. Their little faces are a mix of tired and scared, much like Alex was an hour ago, before the familiarity of electronic gaming helped him zone out. I jump up, bumping Alex's head off my arm where he had been resting, and tears are already on my cheeks before I reach Esme's side.

Her eyes are wide and I can see how much she is freaking out, but on the outside she is the epitome of calm, cool and collected. She hands me Charlie without a word and, with a tilt of her head, directs the girls to sit with their cousin. I rearrange Charlie on the one long bench in the room as Esme heads to the Nurse's station nearby. Her voice wavers as she asks questions I never considered, and fills out more paperwork while we settle in for the wait.

The kids are quiet. Alex plays a different game on my phone, and Irina and Kate haven't let go of each others hands for a moment. They sit silently, leaning against each other and I just want to tell them everything is going to be alright. I don't know if it will be, so I smile and kiss their foreheads and hope it's enough.

Finally, Esme comes back in and uses words like 'echocardiogram' and 'cardiomyopathy' and my brain instantly starts flashing pictures of that movie 'Beaches.' All I can see is the end scene at the hospital where Barbara Hershey is choking instead of breathing and she dies.

She dies.

This is _not_ an option for Carlisle. Not at all.

"It's going to be okay, Rose." Esme soothes me out of my hyperventilating state with her hands on my shoulders and brows raised. Her fingers pinch a little and I focus more on her face this time, seeing that she believes what she says as she reassures me once more that it's going to be alright.

"Breathe, Rose. Just breathe." Her lips quirk up at the sides, and I laugh because it is completely absurd that _I'm_ the one bordering on hysterics and he's not even _my_ husband.

I've never been one to deal well with stressful situations, and even less so now, given Carlisle's unexpected heart condition and hospitalization. Esme sits with her girls and I join her, squeezing in beside Alex. Esme takes my hand in hers and it's only from the slight clamminess that I realize she's not holding up as well as I thought. This reassures me in a way it probably shouldn't. When Alex takes my other hand and squeezes it in his much smaller one, I can breathe a little more. I turn and press my lips to his head and wrap my arm around him, holding him close and settle in for the wait.

**~o~**

The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of hospital waiting rooms and awful coffee. We make frequent trips in Carlisle's Audi between the apartment and his private room, which has become our second home. Carlisle doesn't end up having surgery, but he is on special drugs so his heart has to do less work to pump the blood around his body. On Saturday, the doctors say he is lucky that it was only a minor heart attack which, to me, sounds ridiculous. How can something that serious and life threatening be in any way _small_? They discuss his lifestyle and all manner of things and, when they start getting technical, I take all the kids to the cafeteria for lunch that they actually enjoy. I make do on a semi-stale granola bar and more coffee.

Esme isn't happy with the news that Carlisle has been eating greasy foods for lunch and dinner before the healthy meals she cooks for us at home. What's worse is that heart disease runs in Carlisle's family. His father passed when Carlisle was seven, the same age as Irina now. The stupid man completely refused to recognize the possibility that something might go wrong. On Sunday, he makes a joke about McDonald's as his first meal when he gets home and Esme's hand meets the back of his head as soon as the words leave his mouth. It feels so normal for a moment, just a moment, I forget where we are and why we're there. I only stop laughing when I hear an all-too-familiar throat clearing at the door.

As bad as Carlisle's situation is, as bad as the uncomfortable wait in god-awful plastic chairs and the whines of tired and out-of-sorts children... nothing compares to the arrival of my Mother and Father.

Lillian and Samuel Hale exude New York Elite. Old money that wants nothing to do with new money. Nothing to do with me. As soon as their presence is noticed they are wrapped in the children's small arms and legs, save Alex's. He looks at them from his chair, where he was once again engrossed in some game on his DS. He stares for a beat and then looks back at his game. I can see, in that simple movement, all the light that usually surrounds him is lost. Lost because these are the grandparents that refuse to acknowledge him as much as they have refused to acknowledge me. It's my fault they won't get to know him. My fault that he has never received a single gift from them, or even a phone call on his birthday.

Esme and Carlisle say hello to our parents. Esme's eyes flicker between me and our mother and, when neither of us make a move to say anything, she sighs. I use this as my cue to leave, taking Alex's hand after Carlisle signs goodbye. He and Alex have always been close. Carlisle was the one who accompanied me to nearly all the doctor and hospital appointments when Alex's hearing problems were first diagnosed.

Carlisle coached Alex through his speech therapy and encouraged him to try out for baseball when he was finally old enough. He's the only father figure Alex has ever known and for this I'm truly thankful. I can't begin to imagine our lives without my sister and her husband. They've not only taken care of me, but my son as well and are my only support network. Seeing my parents, here to display concern they no longer extend to me, has left a sour taste in my mouth and a new anger burning in my veins. All the times I've spent with Alex in similar situations, they never cared to even call. Yet, for someone whose only connection to our family is on paper, they drop by? It boils my blood and I hurry down the hall in a need to walk off some of my anger.

Luckily, our day has only really just begun, so I decide we should walk back home through Prospect Park. It'll only take us thirty minutes or so, maybe more if we drop in at the library which we probably will considering what a bookworm Alex is. It's only when we arrive at the elevator doors and I'm pounding the down button to make it arrive sooner that I realize how truly quiet my son has become. Alex doesn't drop my hand as we quietly wait for the elevator, or while we ride to the lobby. He still holds my hand as we walk down the street, the fresh air and sunshine welcome after the air conditioning and clinical smells of the hospital. I slowly swing our joined hands together as we wander toward the park and home. He says nothing, and I don't either because I'm not sure of what to say.

We've talked before about why Grandmother and Grandfather Hale won't talk to him or look at me. We've discussed many times why his cousins get to visit and go to Broadway shows and he sits at home. It's completely and utterly unfair, and more than once he's thrown hurtful words my way when Kate, who is older than him by three years, rubs it in his face. Most times they get along fine, but living in close quarters with a girl who has just become a teenager and another who isn't far off, things like that are bound to happen.

Esme has always tried to make it easier, only letting our Mother see her children three times a year and only under her direct supervision. It's changed lately with Kate being old enough to speak out about what _she_ wants so Mother and Father have been around a little more. It kills Alex, especially since Carlisle's mother is now in a nursing home upstate and not getting around as easily as she used to. They all still see Nanna Cullen, but it's not the same for him. It breaks my heart everytime I hear him slam his bedroom door when Kate and Irina get back from whatever event they've been to with the Grandparents Hale, all full of stories and gifts - none of which he's ever experienced.

I am still annoyed by the way they so casually ignored us in Carlisle's room, and I practically drag Alex down 6th Street. He pulls his hand from mine, moving two steps to the side of me as we wait for traffic on Park West. I take some deep breaths before ruffling his hair, letting my hand sit on his shoulder. Once he looks up at me, I sign my apology as well as speak it. As usual, my ever-forgiving son shrugs his shoulders in acceptance and flashes me his one-dimpled smile. Silence ends there as he asks about dropping by the library because there's the third book in a series he's been reading that should be available for him to borrow. I didn't realize he was into the fantasy novel genre, and our slow walk under cool, shady trees becomes filled with demigods, mortals and mythological Greek creatures.

Alex's face lights up with every question I ask and I feel a little guilty that his new interest has gone unnoticed. Have I really been so caught up in my _own_ fantasy world that I had forgotten about the reality that makes my life the way it is? Apparently so. After our quick visit to the library, and grabbing his book and another that someone had just returned, I decide its too nice a day to head back indoors. Instead, we lie on the soft grass of a nearby field and he reads to me and I relish the sound of his voice. A voice at one stage thought I'd never hear and it's a much needed reminder of why my life is the way that it is. Why I work the hours I do and complete the menial tasks that my job requires of me. Everything I do, and have done, is about making time for him. The boy that a father wouldn't recognize and whose grandparents thought so little of that they wouldn't even let their youngest daughter stay under their roof until he was born.

The sun begins to set as we finish our day together wandering around the botanical gardens, discussing this and that. I feel lighter almost, from having spent this extra time with Alex, and make a mental note to do this more often. Not just using the weekend for mundane tasks, like shopping for Alex's near constant growth spurts and little things that I can't do during the week. When we get back to the apartment, Esme and the girls are there with news that Carlisle will probably be allowed to come home sometime in the next two days, if he remains stable. Esme's eyes say everything I thought they would about our parents unexpected arrival, but I brush it off with a shrug when she opens her mouth to voice her concerns.

Now isn't the time for commiserating over the fact our parents are such certifiable assholes. We've done that too many times before, so I switch the conversation to how Alex and I spent our afternoon. The diversion works because Kate, Irina and Alex talk animatedly about the differences between the movie and the book.

I take Monday off, going out to the Hamptons to retrieve the rest of the girls' and Esme's things, and then Tuesday is back to work.

**~0~**

When Tuesday morning rolls around, life is mostly back to normal. The kids are at school, and Carlisle is due to come home after his doctor looks over the latest test results. With the return to some sort of normalcy, I let myself get excited at how few hours it would be until I see my Subway Stranger once more. With his last words to me in the club echoing in my head, I take extra time with my clothes and look.

My favorite black skirt that hugs me in all the right places, and I pair it with the teal short-sleeved blouse with a round neckline that accentuates the girls. I add the pearl drop necklace that Alex bought for me the previous Christmas - with the help of his Aunt and her credit card. My favorite pair of strappy heels make me a little taller, but not enough to tower over his considerable frame. I even pay a little more attention to my suitably understated makeup and accentuate my eyes, which are something I noticed he'd look for in the club - even with all that darkness.

The day, of course, drags. It feels like every time I look at the little clock on my computer screen, or my watch, the hands and numbers have frozen in place. Angela pesters me at lunch about my fidgeting and I almost admit to her the cause of my pent up excitement. Almost, but I don't. Because then whatever _this_ is that's been building up between me and the Subway Stranger might feel a little more real and a little more scary, and I can't have that.

Subway Stranger is my fantasy. Well, he was, right up until he started searching the crowd for me before he sang. He was until he crooned words to me that could be a poem, not a song about things that weren't anything to do with love. He was until he stated, in a not-so-private place, that he was interested in me, too.

I shut my computer down at five minutes to five. I can't wait any longer. I tell myself that I can do this, I can talk to him, introduce myself and hit him with my megawatt smile. I can ask him to coffee, or even a quick drink, and I will let him take my hand or put his on the small of my back as we wander back out of the subway and into the balmy New York evening air. I will walk with him the few short blocks to the little coffee shop that's not run by some big corporation and I won't let him pay and refuse his money when I get his tab, too.

We will sit and we will talk and the conversation will be easy, flirty, but easy, and there will be that undeniable tension that's existed purely in my dreams but now will flare even brighter that I'm with him in the flesh. He will ask me out for dinner during the week, and I will agree. When he says Wednesday, I'll say Thursday because I know that Carlisle will be settled into some sort of routine at home. I could probably get my best friend Leah to look after Alex, leaving Esme with only her own to worry about. He'll agree, and a few more hours and a few more Soy Chai Lattes later he'll wave down a taxi for me, pay the driver to take me home safely, and then brush those plump berry-kissed lips on my cheek, just skimming the corner of my mouth.

I'll ride home in the cab that he's paid for and I'll blush and giggle and feel butterflies in my stomach and it will all be worth it. Because after today and our date - which will hopefully lead to something more in his apartment - I can close the door on him. He can go back to being just a guy on a platform waiting for a train, and I can return to my non-existent love life because having an _existent_ one would mean introductions to more than just me, would mean alterations to the life I've built and can function in, and that would be more that I can cope with.

All these thoughts are buzzing in my brain as I hum and sway slightly in the packed elevator. His eyes are all I can see as I practically skip to the stairs leading to our station, and I'm smiling like an idiot as I reach the platform that will hopefully contain him, or will in a few minutes more.

My smile, however, is fleeting.

As my heels add to the noise of the others that are walking on the concrete floor, my eyes search for his. Violet hunting for Blue, but what they meet are Brown. Brown hair, brown eyes and, strangely enough, even brown clothes. Her suit is chocolate, knee length skirt and blazer. The white ruffles of her blouse are noticeable as he shifts her jacket to the side and places his large hand across her midriff.

She laughs and bats his hand away and my eyes drift up along a man's charcoal suit with the softest pink shirt on show and what probably is a three day growth of stubble on a chiseled chin. His teeth are white and straight, perfectly framed by the rosy lips I'd dreamed of earlier, and held in place by deep dimples. Thick black lashes blink fast as his belly laugh rumbles louder than the coming train and his dark curls bounce around his ears.

It's when his head bends down and those lips meet her forehead that I turn and walk back up the stairs, pushing rudely against the oncoming rush of people.

He is nothing but a stranger that should have stayed a stranger.

And I am just a woman who shouldn't have thought there could be anything more.


	6. Chapter 6

"If you walk out on me, I'm walking after you."

~-0-~

"Mom, hurry up!"

"I'll be right there, Alex. I just have to find my shoes," I call over my shoulder from where I've buried myself in Esme's closet, looking for this one pair of strappy silver heels I know will go with my dress tonight.

"Just pick some, Mom! You're going to make us late!"

You would think it was _him_ going out for the first time in forever, and not me! I continue rooting through my sister's serious stash of shoes and finally, at the bottom, find the pair I'm looking for. They are the last thing I need before having to leave, and when I turn around triumphant, with the straps hanging over my fingertips, I find Alex in the doorway and he doesn't look amused. Sometimes I forget just how like me he is, considering nearly all his facial features, especially his eyes, all remind me of someone I'd rather forget.

He's got his hand on his hip, is tapping his toes, and has one of his eyebrows raised so high that it's lost under shaggy brown hair. I've been trying to get Alex to cut it but he refuses, saying it's the 'in look' or whatever boys in his class are wearing now. I think it looks slightly ridiculous and it painfully reminds me of that awful child singer that became famous over YouTube.

I want to vomit every time I hear the words _baby, baby, baby ohh_ come out of Kate's bedroom.

His impatience is so reminiscent of me at ten years old – or now even - that I have to bite my lip to keep from chuckling Laughing at Alex when he's in this type of mood won't do me any favors. If there is one thing my son inherited from me, it's my terrible temper. Instead, I ruffle his hair and listen to him whine about not having time to fix it. I wander back out into the living room where I find my loving son has already moved my bags, and his, ready to go.

"You've got your shoes, so can we go now?" Alex asks, pushing past me while he pulls his duffel bag over one shoulder and tucks his basketball under the other arm. It is my turn to raise a brow now because, really, I'm the adult here and I'll decide when, or if, we do leave. I don't have to say another word because Alex knows this look. Instead, he lets his bag drop to the floor and throws himself on the armchair with a loud whoosh. Esme's laughter mingles with Carlisle's snort from the kitchen and has Alex rolling his eyes. There are benefits to having a great room but right now, Alex doesn't love them at all.

" _But, Uncle Cee!_ Jake said if we got there before six he'd help me with my jump shot and its nearly seven!" Alex huffs, flicking through channels on the TV so fast it earns him a whine from Irina, who was apparently watching something even though she has her head in a book.

I call out an apology to Esme and Carlisle, and take the remote from Alex and hand it to Irina. I give Alex another look that says 'don't push it buddy' and he's out of the chair, mumbling under his breath while moving my rolling suitcase to the door.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help out?" I ask Esme as she walks in from the kitchen. She picks up my small makeup bag, which I haven't had occasion to break out since at least a year ago, the last time I went out with my two best girlfriends. Smiling, Esme shakes her head and we pause before going to the door because Carlisle appears to be having some sort of boy talk with Alex.

I have a feeling Carlisle would rather be going _with_ us to the Blacks. At least then he wouldn't be left in a house filled with doting women who are enforcing his doctor's 'take it easy' order to the fullest extent possible. I'm actually surprised they let him near the kitchen; I guess my mini argument with Alex was more entertaining than I thought.

"No, he needs this." Esme nods to where Carlisle and Alex are finishing off their weird secret handshake thing that they've had perfected since Alex was five. She wraps her arm around my waist as we make our way over to the door. "And more importantly, _you_ need it, sis. The last time you went out was, what, before Carlisle landed in hospital? That was over three weeks ago."

I nod because she's right. Ever since I saw my Subway Stranger with that brown cow woman - as I now like to refer to her in my head - I've been all about routine. Get up, go to work, wait for his train to have come and gone (so there isn't the slightest chance of seeing him), and leave for home. Repeat. I never see him, I never think about him anymore.

Fine. I do think about him.

He's in every pair of blue eyes I see. He's in that dimple that Alex hasn't shown because he's not able to do all the things he wants to with Carlisle over the summer break. He's in the supermarket when I'm buying tampons (of all things), because the songs he's sung to me play over their tinny in-store speakers. I hate it. I hate that I can't get him out of my head, when I've never really had him at all. It feels like I've been cheated on, which is ridiculous, yet my heart hurts just the same.

This was why I was so unsure about going out with Tanya and Leah this weekend. My two best friends will see this on my face; see all this stupid hurt and sadness that I hide from my family by working longer hours. They know me and, unlike Esme, will pester me until I spill whatever it is that's making my heart so sore. It's what they do.

Alex presses the button on the elevator repeatedly, when Esme and I walk up behind them. Carlisle kisses my cheek and takes Esme's hand, then there's a ding and with a w _e'll be fine_ from Esme. Alex and I are inside, the doors are closing, and we descend to the ground floor.

**~o~**

"Rosalita, you skanky whor-how you doing there, Alex?" Tanya calls from out the top of the limousine she's standing in, only remembering to watch her language as Alex appears from behind me after chatting with the door man on our way out.

I wave and laugh at the look on her face as Alex runs to the limo with a loud _Awesome!_ shattering the somewhat silent evening air. Tanya leaps out of the car and has Alex in a headlock, ruffling his hair and plastering his face in cherry red lipstick kisses. Once she's done with him and he's inside the car, with a _don't touch anything_ from me, her arms are around my shoulders and I'm squeezed in her tight embrace, too.

"Good save back there," I say with a giggle, hugging her in return.

"I thought so myself." She pulls back, hands bracing my arms. When her eyes start to squint a little in the corners I know it's time to get a move on. I can't have her looking at me like that, not with Alex still around, and definitely not at the beginning of our evening. Maybe later tonight. Or tomorrow. Or maybe not at all.

I know I'm not going to be _that_ lucky.

"Later," she says and it's more of an order than a question so I nod, because it's easier to agree.

"When you said you'd come by to pick us up, I didn't realize the extra room you were talking about was this large. What's with the wheels?" I ask, changing the subject as we step back around to where the driver is holding the door open for us. I can hear that Alex has found the button for the radio.

"Daddy heard I was in town and he didn't want me to have to cab it or anything, " she says with an exaggerated snotty tone. I don't even bother to ask _which_ Daddy this time, because the voice that she's using and the ride that we are sitting in can only mean one man. The man that refuses to publicly name Tanya as his child, but pays for anything and everything she asks for. I've given up on asking and guessing which Manhattan socialite is half responsible for her birth. When she turned fifteen she had to sign some affidavit requiring the true name of her father never be made public.

Over the years, I've narrowed it down to a few of New York's social elite, especially with the way her eyes get this sad look whenever The Apprentice is on. Add to that fact, we always stay at Trump Towers when she's back in New York and the truth behind her parentage can be somewhat pinpointed.

As the driver pulls away from the curb and Alex finally finds a station worth listening to for more than five seconds, I steer the conversation towards my son and his recent school achievements. It's a change of subject he could go on about for hours. He's been told there's a good chance of him taking a specialized music class when he goes back in the fall. Alex has this aptitude for sound, considering he couldn't hear anything for the first few years of his life. Now he can pick up most any instrument and play you a tune. I love how excited he can get about learning, and I gaze out the window and let my mind wander while he catches up with his Aunt Tanya.

Blue eyes. Dimples. A soft smile, a strong jaw. A familiar guitar riff starts and I squirm in my seat, asking Alex to turn it off, a little more harshly than I should. He does and Tanya is scrutinizing me now with her big green eyes. "Rose, since when do you not like the s-e-x god that is Dave Grohl?"

Before I can say a word, Alex jumps in, "Oh, Mom hates the Foo Fighters now. She doesn't let me play them at all and whenever they come on the radio at home she makes me turn them off. She even banned Uncle Cee and I from playing their songs on Rockband."

Tanya's eyebrow raises high and I shrug. "A girl can change her music taste, can't she?" I offer, knowing it won't be explanation enough.

"Did you sleep with the Dave's doppelganger, Rose and not tell me? Because that is very uncool, I don't care if I've been out of the country or what. I told you that time I fuc- I fell in love with that guy on that -"

"Aunt Tanya, I've had sex ed. And I know all about what you and the Persian Prince did that nearly had you arrested in Dubai." Alex says this while bouncing the basketball on his knee and staring distractedly out the window. I bite my lip to contain the chuckles bubbling in my throat. Tanya's mouth opens and closes as the burning crimson on her cheeks makes its way up to her white blond hairline.

"You never told me how good his hearing was back then!" Tanya whispers, leaning in close.

"Still is." Alex sighs, and I can't hold in the laughter anymore.

**~o~**

"The numbers are on the fridge, including your sister's work in case she's there and not home, and I'll have my phone with me at all times and I'll call you as soon as I get to the room and-" Leah's list is finally stopped by Jacob's lips on hers. Tanya rolls her eyes and I smile because we can both still hear her mumbling more instructions even as he kisses her, turning and dipping her almost to the floor.

Sometimes these two can be so overly schmaltzy I throw up a little in my mouth.

When Jake finally lets Leah up, her pupils are dilated and, even with her olive skin tone, you can see the flush on her cheeks. Jake swats her ass and pushes her out the door where Tanya and I are waiting. "Just go already! Alex and I have everything under control." He winks at me, and then mouths _look after her_ _,_ which is hilarious because it's normally Leah looking after me.

Leah walks a little wobbly, still drunk from Jake's kiss, down the front path and out to where the limo is waiting. Tanya and I follow, after I call out one last goodbye to my son, whose only reaction is to raise his hand above his head and wave from the couch. We're giggling as we hear Leah find the fully stocked bar. She already has a bottle of some insanely expensive champagne open and is filling flutes as Tanya and I slide into our seats.

"A toast, bitches," Leah says as I take my glass from her hand. "To no responsibilities."

"No responsibilities," I add as Tanya drains her glass while Leah and I only sip.

She eyes us both with a quirked brow. "Ladies, there are no kids, no partners and one city ripe for the taking. Don't let me be the only one pouring herself into the car tonight."

I sigh and look at Leah; out of the three of us she's a little more cautious when it comes partying hard nowadays. Ever since she and Jake nearly lost one of the twins last year to a bad case of chicken pox, she's been even more wary about being 'out of control' when she's away from home. It doesn't matter that Jake is home with the boys, and that he's been there for her, and them, since before they were born. She's their mom and she feels that ultimately they are her responsibility.

Not that I'd ever tell Jake that or say anything to Leah. He has loved Leah ever since she bit his head off when he tried to help her up off the mat during one of the Lamaze he and I attended when I was pregnant with Alex. Jake, my best friend and once high school boyfriend, had taken it upon himself to be my 'everything' for the lead-up to Alex's birth. Something he promptly forgot when Leah walked into our class a few weeks after we started.

Leah was a strong, opinionated and utterly gorgeous woman who didn't let the fact her life had been changed forever by a cheating fiancé, and being alone and pregnant with twins, get her down. She moved into her own apartment, continued working in the underprivileged children's program she helped run, and cut all ties with her old life.

It took Jake months to get her to even come out with us for an after-class decaf latte. When he finally persuaded her she would completely ignore him. Still, he never backed down, and proved to her he wasn't going anywhere. By the time our last class was over, she agreed to go out on a date with him. Once Jake made her his famous fettuccine cabonara, they never looked back.

It was Jake that took her to hospital when her water broke, who held her while she pushed and who she asked to cut the babies' cords. He virtually moved in with her after she was released from the hospital, and they had been together ever since. They were the couple - apart from my own sister and her husband – that made me believe that there was someone out there for everyone. Even if, at the moment, that wasn't an option for me, not with Alex and how much I needed to be an active presence in his life. I wouldn't even let myself consider the possibility.

Especially not after nearly falling into something like it with my Subway Stranger.

It was easier on my own. Easier to set aside my own life while I concentrated on being everything my child needed. I never wanted him to know what it was like not to have a mother to call on when he needed her. I never wanted Alex to feel alone and unwanted. If there was a baseball game to watch, I was there. If he needed to go to the doctor, I took him. He was wanted. He was cared for. He was safe

That was all that mattered.

"Rosie? Where'd you go?" Tanya waves her hand in front of my face and I shake off the nostalgic mood and concentrate on tonight and being young and single and carefree for a change.

"Nowhere," I answer, finishing my champagne in one long drink and motion Leah for a refill.

"Nowhere at all."

**~0~**

The club is packed and all I can see are heads and hands, all I can hear is a pounding beat as my head keeps time. We've been to several of these venues for hours now and I don't care that it's only one in the morning and that the night is young, according to Tanya. I'm craving a bed, wishing for the moment we stumble back into Tanya's suite for the night and I can slip off these stupid heels and out of this too-tight dress. I just need to breathe air that isn't stale with body odor and not be pressed against flesh that's sticky with spilled drinks.

I turn and attempt to find my wayward friends. Leah is lost in the music, her hands raised high and her bright watermelon dress clinging to her curves as she sways. I spin again and my eyes find Tanya pressed between two gorgeous tall, buff beauties. One has his hand on the belt at her waist, the other is a little more adventurous. His lips and tongue trail across her bare shoulder, and then all I see are his blond curls as he turns his face toward her neck.

I keep dancing, moving, and fending off unwanted hands. I hate that I'm in this massive room full of people and yet I still feel so very alone. My heart and mind have been at war ever since we entered the first club earlier tonight. I see _him_ everywhere. Every shade of blue from the darkest navy to Mediterranean aqua are his eyes. Every flash of a glossy tie, every well-pressed shirt and shiny shoe… it's all my Subway Stranger. Then there are the jaw lines and flirtatious smirks with hints of dimples from across the room that seem to shine like spotlights in my vision.

Everyone is a little him, but no _one_ is him.

The whole idea of this going out and forgetting about my Subway Stranger hasn't worked at all. Even when I smile, I know it doesn't reach my eyes. Thankfully, my best girls have had enough to drink that they don't notice my lips turning up less and less as the night wears on. I stopped drinking an hour ago and sobriety is making my heartache return. It hurts that what I thought was going to be at least a _little_ something with him, turned into nothing at all.

I was stupid to think someone that looked like he did, acted like he did, _sang_ like he did, would be alone. Alone and interested in me.

I was stupid to believe for a moment that if anything _had_ begun with him that I could just turn it off after the deed was done.

I finally catch Tanya's glassy eyes and nod toward the bar. She smiles and returns to kissing someone new, a third boy with dark skin. His teeth glow in the black light as he laughs when she pinches his ass. Obviously, she's not going to be coming back alone, if she comes back at all. I push forward through the crowd, tapping Leah on the shoulder. She leans down so I can speak loudly into her ear – hopefully over the music – that I'm going back to get a drink. She nods and smiles and says something about a water.

I push, shove and squeeze my way to the bar. The line is deep and I'm regretting even thinking about liquid refreshment. I should have just grabbed Leah and Tanya and dragged them out of here. My feet hurt, my eyes are tired and the pounding in my head has turned into what feels like tiny miners using jackhammers in my skull. I don't want to be here any longer. I don't want to be staring at happy people with their single lives all footloose and fancy free. I just want to go.

I'm about a foot from the bar when this idiot in front of me turns and I jump back a little, squealing because he's managed to spill whatever was in his hands down the front of my dress. I can feel the line of what smells like orange juice forming rivulets between my breasts and my mouth drops open in shock. I look up to give whoever this is my worst death stare, as well as a mouthful, and the words stick in my throat.

Full berry lips drawn up into a wide smile, deep dimples perfectly imperfect in wide cheeks, and eyes I thought were deep blue but now I see are swirled with silver and rimmed in inky black are staring back at me.

Him.

_Him._

"It's you." He finally spits out, after what feels like eons of absolute silence pass between us.

I say nothing.

Even if I wanted to I can't, I'm just… speechless.

It's _him._

"I can't believe it's you," he says again, reiterating the shock on my face that echoes in his tone.

"It's me." As soon as the words leave my lips, I am inwardly kicking myself.

 _It's me? He's just poured the stickiest drink all down my front, most likely ruining this dress that I just spent a fortune on and all I can say is_ "It's me?"

There may be another reason why I haven't been out on a date since Alex's father, after all.

He smiles wider and he's staring at me and I can feel heat flooding my cheeks. I smile, too. I can't help it. His warmth, his light - it's contagious.

"It is you." He almost whispers, which is a hard feat in a noisy club, but for some reason all other sound apart from his words and mine have completely disappeared. It's like we're in some cone of silence that Maxwell Smart never quite figured out how to use.

Obviously, my Subway Stranger has.

"Oh," his eyes leave mine and I feel his gaze burning into my chest. "I'm so sorry." His curls flip from side to side as he shakes his head. "I didn't look where I was going, I was –"

"It's okay, really." I cut him off sounding a lot more confident than how I feel. Every time we speak, one of us has had to lean into the other and his aftershave, or whatever it is, is absolutely intoxicating. I'm trying not to breathe it in and swoon at how fucking amazing he smells. I'm trying to remember how he smiled at the Brown Girl that day. Trying to remember her slightly rounded stomach and trying to remember that I don't _like_ him anymore.

But I can't when he pulls a handkerchief – a proper old fashioned cotton handkerchief that looks to have been pressed – from his pocket and starts dabbing at my cleavage. I look down, my eyes glued to his hand and fingers (which are a lot longer than I thought) and his touch is so light that I can barely feel it.

"It's clean, I promise." He pauses, shifting back and there is a cherry blush in his cheeks, more white surrounds his eyes as they open wider. "That was probably a little too much." He smiles again and his dimples deepen. I really, _really_ want to put my finger in them to see how deep they are.. or my tongue.

"It's okay." I can't seem to formulate words. "Thank you," I add, remembering my manners. He offers me the cloth once more, and I take it.

I flinch when my fingertips graze his.

Electric. Sparks. Liquid fire fills my veins and pulses up my arm, restarting that place in my heart that I reserved for him, never completely empty of hope.

There's the tiniest of lines in the middle of his forehead as he looks between our hands and back to my eyes. He reaches out again and runs his fingertips over the back of my hand.

I shiver and it's not because I'm cold. That would be impossible given the number of bodies in this room alone, or just the heat of having him this close. His lips quirk up into a sexy grin and he blinks and I can almost count his full, thick lashes as he leans in close.

"Emmett." His name is a warm breath playing over my face. "Thank you, _Emmett_ , is the word I think you're looking for."

Cheeky, but I like it.

And now I know his name.

"Emmett." I let the word roll off my tongue and suddenly, I don't really want to leave this club, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

"If everything could ever feel this real forever."

~-0-~

We stand there, staring at each other, saying nothing but smiling in a moment that feels endless. I've always felt like my hands were abnormally large, that I was too tall to be girly - but here with _him,_ everything feels normal, perfect. When I squeeze my fingers, entangled with his, he returns the reassuring move each and every time.

We must look absolutely ridiculous.

Goofy grins. Starry eyes, holding hands like teenagers.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Well… of course I would prefer _more_ – naked more, or just more of him and I alone and not in a room of people, but that can wait. Because here in _this_ moment, with him, I am content.

I feel whole. This new sensation is at war with the nervous knot in my stomach and the excited sparks that fire up and down my body from my feet (that no longer hurt) to my head (whose ache has completely disappeared).

He opens his mouth to say something and I blush – _I blush -_ before he can say a word. My head falls forward a little and some loosened strands of hair fall from the intricate knot Tanya magically created. He reaches forward and tucks the blonde pieces behind my ear and my flesh is burning, singed from where he lets his fingers slowly slide down my cheek and jaw.

I'm melting and we've barely spoken a handful of words to each other.

Emmett – _Emmett,_ I can't believe I finally know his name – still has his forefinger and thumb lightly gripping my chin and I'm suddenly aware that he's licking his lips and moving in. His tongue is moving from one side of his luscious bottom lip to the other. I can't even blink. I'm exhaling so slowly it's like I can feel every molecule escaping my lungs. _Is he? Could he be?_

He's so close now I can see his nose isn't as straight as I previously had thought. There's this slight bump about half way down _. A_ _break from fighting?_ He doesn't seem the type. Maybe it's from when he was younger, a football injury perhaps? He's definitely broad enough across the shoulders and _built_. Maybe a sibling accidently shut the door in his face? I want to know. I want to ask, but he's still leaning closer – I can count his eyelashes but I don't because he stops just short. My eyes flicker between his lips that are barely parted and his eyes that are so, _so_ blue.

"So…"

I shiver and give the barest of nods.

Emmett's left dimple shifts higher and I can virtually see my reflection in his teeth. He's either had amazing orthodontist work or was born lucky, because they are perfect and straight and blindingly white when the light shines our way. I'm absolutely entranced by just how _perfect_ they are and then his lips are moving, undulating almost. Up and down and quirking and lifting to one side more than the other and then he's smiling again. I'm kind of sad they've stopped moving and then I realize – he was talking.

And I didn't hear a word he said.

_Jesus, Rosalie Lillian Hale, get a grip on yourself!_

I squeeze my eyes shut and open a few times and he's still staring at me with that grin.

"Sorry?" I ask, finally finding my voice.

His fingers slide around my neck and then I feel his breath warm over my ear. He's even closer than before and I can feel the heat of his body where it hovers _just_ above mine. I can even see that he has this group of three moles evenly space just above the collar of his shirt and I wonder if they'd feel raised under my fingertips.

"I asked if you were going to tell me your name now, seeing as I've touched your boobs and all."

I laugh. Loudly.

There may even have been a snort escape.

I rest my head on his shoulder and my free hand moves on its own to grip his shirt in my fingertips. The lightweight tee gives easily and as it moves down I can see a greater expanse of his chest. A smattering of curls almost as dark as his hair peek out of the V neckline. They look soft, but if I release his shirt they'll disappear again and I kind of like this hold I have on him. The hold he has on me. Someone shouts _watch out_ and then I'm bumped from behind and I can feel a new touch, a new heat on my hip. It sears through the thin plum satin of my dress and right into my skin.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his lips brush the shell of my ear and I swoon again, my knees literally going weak forcing his grip to tighten.

"Whoa there, let's get you a seat and some water or something. It's too damn hot and people are pushy in here." He pulls back to look at me and that little line in between his brows is there again. He grips my hand a little tighter and we're moving. I have no choice but to follow after him, my feet stepping in time with his long, steady strides through the crowd and around the side of the bar. There aren't any empty seats but he stares at this one guy until he moves, shaking his head. Then Emmett's hands are on my hips and I'm lifted onto the stool, my legs between his as he motions to the girl behind the bar for some ice.

Ice. Has he noticed I'm always chewing on that at _his_ bar? Or is this simply because I got a little woozy under the hypnotic power of his eyes and grin? Emmett's hands have yet to leave my sides and we aren't talking, we're staring at each other again, one of us breaking into a chuckle and then the other until the girl at the bar hands Emmett the cup. His look changes then, his eyes search over my face as he offers me the glass and I take it, feeling myself flush once more from his intense gaze. I quickly chew up the first couple of pieces and then let the next melt on my tongue.

Meanwhile, Emmett's thumbs are rubbing small circles in that hollow above my hipbones and I'm thanking the miracle makers of those anti-high-beam nipple covers that I'm wearing otherwise this could be slightly more embarrassing for us both.

I eat a few more pieces, then hold the cup in my lap as he steps in close, bending slightly so I can hear him speak. "Feel a little better?" He asks and I nod, attempting to find words but they stick in my throat so I clear it and then manage a yes.

Emmett grins and nods his head. I start to say _thank you,_ but we're interrupted by my very loud and very sweaty best friend. Leah steps right up to the bar, totally missing the tall, dark and handsome man mostly curled around me - so intent she is on getting the bartender's attention.

"Oh my god, I forgot how much you sweat when you're dancing. I swear Rose, I think I've shed about half my body weight in fluid out there. Is there a wait on drinks or something because you left ages ago and – oh, hello there." Leah finally stops her mouth from running and blatantly checks out Emmett from his feet to his curls. I can feel my eyes narrowing and that little part of me that already screams 'mine, mine, mine! Stay away!' is quite loud in my head, even though it is Leah and she's married with kids.

She looks between us and her eyes narrow as they move over where Emmett and I are connected. Emmett's hand leaves my hip to twine his fingers between mine once more, reassuring me with a squeeze and my grin is from ear to ear. His smile echoes mine and I get lost in his baby blues. They're sparkling with the lighting – or with me, which probably isn't true but in my fantasy it is. He's so damn pretty. Not _pretty_ , ruggedly handsome, totally do-able in that 'I want him to throw me over his shoulder and get us out of here so I can get to know him better' way. Naked or clothed, I don't care; I don't want to _not_ be near him, now that I am.

"And who might you be?" Leah asks, crossing her arms in what I know to be her protective momma bear look. In my head I can already hear the conversation we are going to be having shortly, and I'm hoping it's at least after he is out of earshot because it won't be pretty.

Emmett turns those sapphire eyes on Leah, extending his hand in greeting, and hits her with what can only be perceived as a panty-dropping smile. His deep dimples are on serious display – not that those will help. Anytime Alex tries to get one over on his Aunt by flashing a little facial indentation, she ignores it. I watch, slightly amused and a little embarrassed, as Leah just stares at his hand with one brow raised.

"Emmett McCarty, ma'am. I'm guessing you're a friend of," He pauses and his eyes flick toward me and I swear his smile widens even more, "my old stalker here." He grins and I want to melt into the floor.

My hand leaves his before I even am aware of it, cuffing the back of his head because on this stool I'm a little taller than he is. "Stalker!" I say a little louder than I should, enough that a few patrons surrounding us actually turn to look.

 _Oops_.

Leah looks thoroughly confused, and Emmett is laughing and rubbing at the spot where my hand connected with his skull before turning back to face me.

"I'm sor-" I start, eyes wide with shock and he stops me with his hand over mine once more. The moment his skin touches mine, I'm flooded with relief and that hum is back between us. I like this hum, this hum feels good. It's filled with promise.

"Don't be, I'm used to it. My sister is always telling me to think before I speak and that what I find funny others might not."

Sister. A piece in the puzzle that is Emmett McCarty. I think we should explore this further but first, Leah is still staring between us both.

This is going to take some explaining. It's still too loud in here to do that properly and I'm not sure I can anyway without revealing that I am – in fact – his own private stalker.

"He sings. Emmett, that is. He sings at a club I go to after work sometimes."

"Every Friday apart from the last two you've been there. You've been catching a later train home, too." It's his turn to look slightly abashed at this admission. Before I can ask how he knows that, Leah is nodding her head and I realize she's figured out who I'm with, from the little I told them at dinner.

I'd kept it short and to the point, virtually a list that said a lot while saying nothing much at all. Mystery guy, had a stupid crush on him, turned out he was taken and _very_ unavailable. Just the basics.

"You're the Dave Grohl wannabe that flirts with our Rosie through lyrics while he's got a woman with a bun in the oven?"

" _Leah!"_ I gasp, feeling my face flush in the same color of cherry that lines my lips. _Okay, so maybe I'd given them a few more details then I said before._

Right about now, I no longer feel like melting onto the floor is an option - I want to escape underneath it.

Emmett's looking between us, with a crease in his brow and a look that screams confusion. Just as I'm about to apologize for Leah's crass remark, this tall, lanky man walks up behind him, wrapping his arm around Emmett's shoulders and I don't get a chance.

"I told Pete that I'd find you. What type of boys night out do you call this, Em?"

It's then that this new guy catches sight of Leah and I, and the side of his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Oh, lining up the females already are we, Mac? He's a smooth operator, this one. So, which one of you lovely ladies will be my company for tonight?" The new guy says this while staring at Leah with an appreciative, lingering look that hovers at the plunging neckline of her dress. Leah, of course, doesn't fail to recognize that his eyes are glued to the handful (and then some) that having the twins has given her. She waves her hand in front of new guy's face and tells him that her eyes are a few inches above where he's looking.

Emmett and I are laughing and he's stepped back to my side, ducking out of new guy's arm.

New guy shrugs and then his gaze shifts to where Emmett still has his hand in mine. He looks between us. Then the smirk from before is a wide grin.

"You're the girl, aren't you? She's _the_ girl, isn't she, Mac?"

I think Emmett blushes and he mumbles something along the lines of 'shut up, James' with the slightest nod of his head.

I'm _the_ girl. Hmm. Obviously, this is a good thing.

New guy - or James, as I now know him to be - calls over a blond haired man who is staring at his phone and standing a little way back in the crowd. He's tall - so tall he looks like he's bending to fit in with the crowd - and has piercing ice blue eyes that shine bright through his thin black frames. He looks up, walking over to join us.

"Ladies, this is Pete and James. Fellas, _this_ is," he waits and I realize that he's heard one version of my name from Leah, but never my name from me.

"Rosalie," I sputter and his dimples are begging me to poke my finger in them from the warmth of his smile.

"Rosalie," he repeats softly, then again, "This, boys, this is Rosalie." I feel my heart skip a beat with the intonation and way he says my name. Like I'm important and special. Like I'm _the_ girl.

James nods again and his focus is taken from me and back to Leah. He steps closer and she crosses her arms, frowning. "Don't even think about it," she says, holding up her left hand where the diamonds in her engagement and wedding rings sparkle like rainbows. "Happily. Eight years. And these?" she motioned to her breasts, "Twins. You don't even want to know about the stretch marks I have on my stomach."

James blinks and then Pete's laughing and starts asking Leah where her husband got that ring from because he's been looking all over for one similar for his girl. Leah's icy façade fades a few minutes into their conversation as it becomes apparent Pete is nothing like James and is truly in love with his Charlotte. James shrugs off any earlier embarrassment (if there was any) and his eyes are scanning the crowd.

Meanwhile, I'm still sitting here with Emmett's hand in mine. The only reason I remember this, is when he lifts our hands so that I'm now tucked into his side and our interlocked fingers rest on the round of my shoulder, my forearm across my chest. I turn my head up towards him and he smiles with one brow raised in a silent 'is this okay?' and I just lean in closer, because it is. Even though it shouldn't be because of that girl with the brown eyes and brown hair and. . .

. . . he said sister earlier, right?

Like puzzle pieces that were scattered across a table, my thoughts start to fall into place, but I want to know more. Emmett is just gazing at me and I can't stop staring at him either. Ever since he bumped into me with that drink I haven't really been able to tear my eyes away from his. There's so much I want to say and ask, and all my previous plans to just have him as this one night stand and get him out of my system are completely shot to shit once more.

I don't want one night with him.

I want more.

"I can explain-" he starts, but the rest is lost in a loud boom of music from the speakers and I miss the rest.

"I didn't- " I begin and yet again the bass thumps over the rest of my words and even though Emmett leans in closer – _hello aftershave!_ – I can't hear him and he can't hear me.

This is getting ridiculous.

"-ridiculous." Emmett's voice is loud, echoing my internal sentiment, and people turn around as the music has suddenly disappeared into the background.

I chuckle and agree. "We're not exactly in the best place for a conversation."

"No, we're not and I'd really like to talk to you, get to know you a little better than the girl with the beautiful violet eyes who only drinks whiskey sours." He turns a little as he speaks, and his fingers brush my cheek so lightly I can barely feel it, and it sends a rush of warmth throughout my body.

He scrunches his nose up, "Is that lame? It is, isn't it? No one says 'get to know you better' anymore, do they? " Emmett shakes his head and I stop him with my hand on his broad chest. Obviously, we don't have any rules on touching on the first date. Not that this is a date, but it's beginning to feel like one.

"Do you want to get –"

"Out of here?" I finish, because I do. I really, really do.

Emmett's smile grows, his hands find my waist as he stands in front of me. He leans in so the tip of his nose _just_ brushes mine and his eyes… his eyes are so dark and intense that I forget to breathe.

"What about your friends?" His breath smells all citrusy and sweet. The OJ was definitely his.

I nod slightly to my left where I think Leah and Pete are. "What about yours?"

He sighs, one side of his mouth turning up slightly. He looks almost a little sad at the fact we're both here with people and have commitments. "I'll lose mine if you lose yours?"

I feel like we're conspirators now in this plan to get us out of here without offending either of our 'friend' parties. "I think mine should be happy to let me go. They _should_ be happy I even came out at all."

"On the count of three we make a run for it?" He lifts me off the stool and my feet feel strange now they're on solid ground while my head is still in the clouds, lost in what is happening between us.

"One, " I murmur.

"Two." His hand finds mine again, like magnets. Emmett takes one side step and I follow ready for the 'three.'

"Oh my _god_ , Rosalita you didn't tell me you knew Mac!"

So close.

Tanya is definitely more drunk than sober as she wraps herself around Emmett, and I bristle at how easily she touches him, moves around him. She's kissing his cheeks and then cups his face, using her thumbs to rub away her lipstick stains.

"Oh, if you're here, does that mean James is? I haven't seen him since the last time I was in town. Or maybe that summer when he was chasing Bella around with those puppy dog eyes. I'm sorry I missed her wedding, I just couldn't get time off."

Tanya – as usual – is talking a mile a minute and doesn't let Emmett get a word in before she's realized that Leah is on the other side of us, still in deep conversation with Peter.

"Rosalita?" Emmett mouths at me and I simply raise my brow in return and silently tease back, "Mac?"

Tanya finishes off the drink Leah had previously been sipping, just as the other member of our impromptu party wanders up. James has returned from wherever he disappeared off to earlier, wraps his arms around Tanya's waist and hoists her into the air. She squeals and turns in his arms, pounding her fists on his shoulders before covering his face in bright red kisses, screaming "put me down!"

_Could this night get any more bizarre?_

They all talk, Leah asking Tanya how she knows the others and James teasing Tanya about running out on him last time they were together. It's so surreal to see these people, who are obviously are a large presence in my life and the same in Emmett's, interacting in such an easy manner so quickly.

"I think this is our cue to go," Emmett tells me and I can't agree more.

"Think they'll miss us?" I ask, because I should at least _act_ like I care, even when I don't. I want to spend time with him, now, not later or tomorrow or _I'll call you_. Here and now is where I am and where I want to stay.

"Nope," I answer and with that, Emmett turns and moves us through the crowded dance floor. In a flash we're at the coat check and then we're out the door.

It's freezing outside, the heat of the club still warm on my skin and I shiver. As I'm rubbing my hands up and down my arms for friction, I'm suddenly surrounded in an incredible scent I already know well because, ever since Emmett leaned in to speak to me earlier in the night, it's been in my head and my lungs. He moves to stand in front of me, pulling his jacket close over my hands, and the warmth I feel now is so much different to before. This is a 'down in the pit of my stomach' heat that is sparking something entirely different to life, something a lot like lust and want.

"Better?" he asks, his hands resting atop my shoulders and those gorgeous eyes of his are alight and I'm drowning in how deep and blue they are. I could literally stare into their depths for hours, I'm sure, and be completely content.

"Yes," I manage to spit out so he doesn't think I become mute whenever he talks to me on my own.

"Good." He winks; then he's gone from my side, hailing a cab.

His shirt rides up in the back, revealing a sliver of tanned skin just above his dark jeans. With his arm extended, his biceps bulge and even with his black shirt, I can see the corresponding muscles move on his back. I bite the corner of my bottom lip to stop from moaning out loud. Damn if he doesn't look fine just motioning for a taxi.

What will he look like when I finally peel all these added layers off and see the man under the suits? The man under the silk ties and fancy Italian shoes or even the one that sits up on a stage crooning love songs, that I can now believe may have been aimed at me. I want to know about that girl and his sister, about his crazy friend James and just how he knows Tanya.

"What are you thinking about?" Emmett asks, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. I realize I've zoned out again instead of being here in the here and now. His dimples are showing again from the grin he's shining my way, those perfect white teeth blinding me a little.

"Nothing." I shrug. I can't believe how verbose I'm being around him, and yes, I mean that in an utterly sarcastic way.

I'm never this quiet. Ever.

"Yes you were, you've got that little downturn with your lips and you're hopping from foot to foot. I saw you do that when we were waiting for our trains every afternoon."

Wow, he does pay attention. I'm impressed and feel a little better about all my stalking over the past few months, because obviously, he's done the same.

"I didn't think you noticed me," I admit, a little shyly. Emmett is really bringing out the softer side in me tonight. I don't know what it is about him that makes every single wall I've ever built up around myself crumble into dust, but it does. He does this to me.

And it's a little terrifying. Terrifying, but utterly exciting just the same.

"How could anyone not?" If he wasn't staring at me like he is right now, all dark navy and utterly serious, I wouldn't believe him. I would laugh. Instead, I just follow him into the back of the yellow cab and when we're both inside and the door is closed, I rest easily against his side.

"Where to?" the driver asks.

Emmett looks at me, a shrug of his shoulders and a twist of his lips indicate the unspoken 'yours or mine?'

"I'm staying at Trump Towers, but Tanya has the key so…" I trail off, knowing perfectly well that I want to go to his place. I want to see where he makes his breakfast, where he sleeps and where he keeps all those ties.

"Mine, it is." Emmett gives a familiar sounding address that is close to Central Park. His arm wraps around my shoulders again and as much as we said we want to talk, the ride is comfortably silent. So much so that I start to drift off in his embrace; he makes me feel so warm and safe that I don't need to be on alert.

When the car finally stops, I know exactly where we are. For one millisecond, I pause and reconsider everything that's lead me up to this point.

Emmett gets out and holds the door open and I finally scoot out. He pays the driver and moves to take my hand once more but all I can do is look up, up, up.

"She's pretty even at night, don't you think?" he asks and I nod because I've seen this building in the darkness before. I've looked out her windows and gazed upon Central Park's ever-changing seasons in hues of green and gold, fiery orange and warm amber and the still of winter's white. I know this building, and a spike of hurt long left dormant heats the fissure in my heart, but I work hard to stamp it out cold.

"Have you been here before?" Emmett asks as we continue to stand on the pavement, gazing into the heavens of concrete and glass that is more the sky than where the stars should be.

I nod again, unable to find the words. I look up, trying to find 'that' window, wanting to see if it has a light, but I can't and it shouldn't surprise me. He lives here, I'm sure. It's where the alimony checks are posted from.

Just when I think I've got my life somewhat compartmentalized and covered, the Subway Stranger has to live in the same building as Alex's father.

Fate is a cruel and fickle mistress, and she apparently has it in for me.

"Do you still want to come inside?" Emmett asks, breaking my reverie with a squeeze of my hand. I love how often he's held it tonight. It's something so simple that even grade school children use it as a sign of affection, and I'm struck by how much it means to me. How just having his hand in mine makes me feel utterly composed.

"Yes, I… I used to stay here once before." I blink and focus on Emmett. Emmett, with his mess of black curls and stunning sapphire eyes. Emmett, who amid tonight's chaos hasn't let me go. Emmett, who is interested and listens and who has told his friends that I'm 'the' girl.

"Royce King lives here. My son's father, my ex. On the twenty second floor. He hasn't had anything to do with Alex since before he was born. His parents bought him this apartment when he got into Harvard and now he's some lawyerly type for the bank my father owns. Or so I've heard." The truth tumbles from my lips without a second thought.

Emmett doesn't blink. Doesn't even show a single sign that he's affected by anything that I've just said he just moves straight into his own story. "The girl, the one your friend said you saw me with? That's my sister. She and her husband have been trying for a baby. Bella had come down to the office that day to tell me that they were finally pregnant and we went out to dinner with Edward to celebrate. That's the last day I saw you and I thought it might have been the reason you didn't show up at the bar anymore."

Emmett moves to stand in front of me, bending so that he can cup my face in his large hands. He's so big, all wide shoulders and deep chest and so tall. He towers above me, even in my heels and yet I don't feel small around him. I feel equal.

"I should have done this the first time I saw you at the bar. I should have done this months ago when I first saw you waiting for the train. The strap broke on your bag and all your things tumbled out. There was all the normal stuff but it was the crayons that caught my eye. Then there was a toy car and a comic – all things I wouldn't assume a woman like you to have just lying around, even if you're bag is big enough to pack for a month's holiday."

I roll my eyes. "I have a kid, you need a big bag when you have a ten year old boy because he'll always find something he needs you to hold onto. And how did you know there wasn't maybe a happily married me in this mix?"

He laughs and the sound is loud in the quiet of our night, "It's all in the details, Rosalie, and yours I've paid attention to." He rubs over the empty space where a wedding ring would have joined the three carat princess cut family heirloom I threw into the Duck Pond over ten years ago.

"Oh," Once again I am at a loss for words. I unconsciously lower my head, my feet itch to take a step back but he holds me in place with his eyes and his hands, and the flight instinct is squashed by the simple notion that he hasn't let me go.

"I get it, Rosalie," Emmett starts softly. "You have a son. You have baggage, but who doesn't? The difference is that I'm still here. I'm still standing here, asking you if you want to come up." His thumbs brush softly over the apples of my cheeks and the stars I'd been searching for before are now right there in his eyes and ricocheting around my insides. I've never felt like this… ever. Not even that first crush, or first love, feeling compares to this. It's Fourth of July fireworks and the national anthem at the Superbowl.

"Now do you want to come up?" Emmett asks once more.

"Yes. Please." I add, almost as an after thought.

"Good." He whispers, his sweet breath coating my face like an intoxicating cloud, one that I would happily drink in. "That means I can do this."

And he kisses me.

Not soft and sweet. Not a "warm-up" kiss.

No, this is 'I heard what you said and it doesn't matter.'

This is 'I want to know you, I want to know all about you.'

This is a promise of more.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm getting tired of starting again, somewhere new. **"**

  
~-0-~

We went upstairs that night.

The sky had swirled above us, heady with stars and kisses to build dreams upon.

He held my hand the entire way up this truly grand and most beautiful part of New York's skyline, up to the very top of the magical El Dorado building.

Emmett lives at the very top. The penthouse if you will. His apartment looks over the park and has a _turret_ where he has this wraparound library of books upon books and an extremely male, but oh-so-comfy chair in the shape of a giant baseball glove.

It's great for curling up on with him and making out like teenagers.

… which is all we ended up doing that night.

We talked a little. He asked about Alex. I told him about my son's latest interest in playing the drums. I asked about Bella. He told me a story from their youth. He asked where I lived. I told him about Carlisle's heart attack. Little things, little pieces without either of us revealing too much of our lives extended. We were focused more on the here and now and what was being created between us.

I stayed until the sun rose and the sky changed from black to grey to silver and blue. I stayed and watched him yawn and watched as he watched me yawn in return. It was the first night I could ever remember being that attracted to someone but not quite willing to take it further. It wasn't that either of us didn't want to, our tongues and touches heated up the little room till I'm sure we could have performed that 'hand on window' scene made so famous in Titanic with Kate and Leo. Every time it was getting too close to ripping clothes off and getting more comfortable on his couch, one of us would slow it down.

Bring the heat back a notch.

It was as if there was some unspoken agreement that tonight was purely about getting to know each other – yet nothing heavy enough to possibly scare off the other.

And so it went that I left around ten with a phone full of missed calls and texts that verged on ridiculous (calling in the FBI for missing persons), and the echo of his voice in my head and the taste of his skin on my lips. He made me promise to call when I got home.

He called me in the cab after he shut the door and we'd not even pulled away from the curb.

We talked until I got in the elevator at home.

I endured endless ridicule from Carlisle and Esme for coming home early with "that" look on my face. Esme took me aside after Carlisle wouldn't stop with the questions. She'd given him a look and he'd rolled his eyes and snickered. When we were out of earshot, she simply pulled me into her arms and quietly asked if I'd used protection. All while smiling angelically, knowing full well that was exactly what her husband was trying to get out of me.

Apparently, my night out was big news.

After checking on Alex and how he was faring at the Black's house, (he was _fine, Mom. Stop your worrying)_ , I called the girls and set them straight on what had gone on. They demanded I return and dragged me out for a late lunch. After far too many gin cocktails, we went back to the hotel where they made annoyingly girly sounds whenever Emmett texted (he didn't call because he thought it would be weird). I called him the moment I knew those two were asleep in bed.

We talked until the next morning and I hung up just as I heard Tanya clunking around looking for the phone to request some much needed room service. I'd never felt so… carefree. I didn't worry about what it would be like introducing him to Alex, because that was a ways off. I didn't worry about if he was a good man, or if he would treat me right. Because I knew in my heart that he was.

He was amazing, and I'd only just begun to know him. I was verging on the L word with how I felt. But that was too soon. Too much.

So I lived happily in the now.

**oOo**

Dating Emmett has me feeling like I'm in High School all over again. We text and call each other at all hours, finding that we don't need sleep as much as we need the sound of each others voice. We do all these couple type things, dinner and movies, drinks and dancing, walks in Central Park. We even went to the zoo. I love that nervous/excited feeling he gives me the moment his eyes catch mine and I can see his happiness reflected just the same. All of this _together_. All of these dates and getting to know each other's quirks has been amazing.

But (because you _know_ there has to be a 'but'), there has been one thing sorely missing from our time together.

Nudity.

There has been no naked time what-so-ever.

Now I'm not a prude, and believe me it hasn't been completely my decision to keep things this clothed for the past month. Emmett, however, is a different story. Emmett wants to take things slow. Emmett is of the belief that things have clicked and worked so well for us purely because we have this… thing. This _kismet_ , this once in a lifetime, once in a million chance that we found each other and he doesn't want to ruin it by a quick roll in the hay (in his words). Which is fine by me. I've been burnt before and the fact that I originally just wanted to do exactly what he doesn't want us to do is proof to even myself that slow and steady is going to be great for us. It'll happen when it's _meant_ to happen, not forced, not rushed. An 'organic' process.

This all coming from the man with a degree in both law and environmental science. Emmett is smart. More than smart – more like in the genius level of extremely clever. It was a little intimidating when he told me about his double degree and then his masters but it was when he mentioned hoping to finish his doctorate in the next two years that's when I realized just how 'above average' he was. I mean, he is only two years older than me and far more academically advanced.

Of course, how someone so incredibly clever can be so incredibly childish in many ways is beyond me. Yet, Emmett seems to ride this fine line with ease and grace. He can have me giggle snorting at some awful impersonation from movies we both love. Next, he'll be excusing himself to take a call, spouting words that have more than four or five syllables and stringing them into sentences that I think even I would need to brush up on my lawyerly skills to begin to understand.

He's _my_ puzzle, and I like fitting together the pieces, especially seeing as they seem to be different parts of me that I never realized were missing.

_** Incoming Text **_

_I'm looking out my window and thinking about you. How many floors up is your office?**_

I look around the room and see only dividers and a tiny piece of light coming from a window a few cubicles away. There's no way he can see me or I can see him like this.

_**Outgoing Text **_

_My cubicle is virtually in the middle of the room, the only Manhattan I see is on my desktop. BTW aren't you supposed to be working?**_

I hide my phone back in my top drawer and with a stupid grin on my face – that really hasn't left since that night at the bar and later at his house – go back to proofreading yet another document. It's boring, mundane work that I used to be able to complete with no problem at all, but now every document is the same old, same old. I'm finding my train of thought jumping off track and heading in an utterly new direction. One block over and a good twenty stories up.

One that has a tall, curly haired, completely sweet man at the end of it.

Ugh, and I missed yet another spelling error completely. Even I'm having to do a second and third reread because I'm scanning past simple errors. Honestly, you would think the chimps upstairs didn't know how to turn their spell check on!

_**Incoming Text **_

_What floor are you on, Rosie?**_

Rosie. My heart stutters a little and the stupid grin widens at his new use of my name. When I was younger my parents were all about it being used properly, 'you are a Hale, Rosalie, and we did not give you your great grandmother's name to have it shortened.' Then when I was older, friends were constantly breaking my name up into different parts. Rose, Ro, Rosalita, Silly Sally… but Rosie from him, it just felt… _different._

 _Good_ different.

_**Incoming Text E. McCarty**_

_I'm not going to do anything embarrassing, I swear.**_

Somehow, I wasn't so sure of that.

** _Outgoing Text R. Hale**  
Prove it.**_

I giggle and hit send. My hair is out of its once usual bun today, and I'm twirling a piece of my pony tail around my finger like some love sick teenager.

My phone buzzes in my hand and this time it's a picture. A picture of one _very_ sexy man in a suit with his silver and blue striped tie today sitting at his desk pulling the _most_ ridiculous face ever. I snort, and try and cover it with a cough and quickly drop my phone like it's on fire into the top drawer where it lands with a clunk. I can see Weasel headed this way and his beady eyes pick up on phones and things on 'company' time like they're hundred dollar bills.

He must have no social life at all if he thinks a few random tweets and message checks are preventing me from doing my job.

I smile as he gets closer, pulling at my skirt even though my legs are hidden under my desk purely because if there is a way for Weasel to look at my legs, he will.

"Good after-" I start but he holds his finger up to his lips and silences the rest of my sentence because just as I begin my salutation, my direct line lights up and he's picking up _my_ phone.

Shit, I probably took too long to answer Emmett back.

Eric smiles at me in that gross leering way, not saying anything but a quick hello. Completely unprofessional and very unlike him and obviously, trying to catch me off-guard. He's such an asshole and all I can do is sit back and watch.

I swallow hard and think about all the times in the last few weeks that Emmett has called and spewed forth whatever it is he wants to say randomly off his chest. The time he talked to me in French for ten minutes and then hung up. The time he called and did the best impression of Chewbacca I'd ever heard. The time he called and sang to me. The time he called and said how many hours, minutes and seconds it was until he met me downstairs. Then proceeded to countdown said time until we reached zero together. Which I can admit was a little weird. The smile I had and the smile _he_ had when I saw him waiting in the lobby when we finally got to zero, were testament to the fact of just how stupid and crazy in … well, _maybe_ the L word we both are.

Eric's face changes and my brain goes on autopilot. I'm thinking about my student loans that I've yet to pay off. I'm thinking about Alex wanting that new gaming play box thing that is coming out next week and I'd promised he could have it for his birthday next month and now I'd probably have to talk to Carlisle about a small loan. I'm thinking that Weasel won't even give me a reference, he'll just fire me on the spot for using the line for personal reasons.

He'll probably trump it up as some sort of sexual assault case.

I'm so fired.

"No, no I don't, I'm rather profess-" A pause, "Well I'm not in the habit of that either, I'm not sure why you feel the need to call Miss…" his brow is doing that quirk thing which I know happens when Weasel feels like he's being reprimanded. A rare look that has only occurred four times that I can think of, and with staff who were the underlings of the big head honchos upstairs when Eric had made a serious mistake. He was good at parts of his job, or at least good at making it look like he was. For the next few seconds all he says is 'yes' and nods his head.

I may not be entirely fired, probably just suspended with pay.

"… if there is anything else I can help you with in the fut-" He's standing so tall and straight for his small stature that he almost vibrates. "She's just arrived back at her desk now." He finishes and hands me the phone before crossing his arms and I know he's not going anywhere until I finish the call.

"Rosalie Hale speaking." I say with my most efficient tone. I'm silently praying to the Gods of Kobel (Emmett is a huge Battlestar Galactica fan) that it _is_ indeed Emmett and not someone who I am actually in trouble for giving out the number for my direct line to.

"Miss Hale?" a soft yet clipped female voice starts, "This is Mrs. Bird, Mr. McCarty's assistant. Mr. McCarty has had to leave the office momentarily but wanted me to call and give you a message."

I am thoroughly confused yet still manage to squeak out a yes. All the while with Eric still looking slightly shaken and with the tone and direct manner of this Mrs. Bird I can kind of understand why.

"Mr. McCarty would appreciate it greatly if you would accompany him to the firm's annual fundraiser tonight at eight. I know it's short notice-"

Whatever words she was going to say next are cut off by a loud cry of _Mom_ in a tone I know and then there is what sounds like a hand going over the receiver and muffled, loud talking.

Or arguing. Either way it is completely weird.

I sit and keep a straight face while I'm listening hard to the muffled voices in the background. I hold my hand over the receiver and pointedly look Weasel straight in the eye before mouthing that I can take it from here. His eyes narrow for a moment, then he turns in a huff and heads back toward his office. I'm sure he'll find some way to peek around and observe me so I keep my mannerisms official. It's as I am nodding my head and quietly muttering non-committal noises that I remember the one and only word I'd heard clearly.

Mom.

 _Mom_?

Had Emmett really called the polite, yet slightly stuffy woman on the end of the phone Mom?

"Just give me the phone! Rose? Rosie?"

Emmett is back.

"Great Ma, she's hung up."

"What have I told you about calling me that in the workplace, Emmett Andrew McCarty?"

Silence.

"Sorry, Mrs. Bird."

Silence again and what sounds like a kiss on a cheek, then a sigh and a door closing.

"Rosie?" Emmett tries once more, I swivel round in my chair, make sure that Weasel isn't in sight and finally answer.

"Emmett?"

Another sigh, this time less frustrated than before and then he's apologizing for the weirdness on the phone. I laugh it off because he sounds a little mortified when I finally get it out of him that it is indeed his mother that works as his personal assistant.

"She needed a job and she's really good at organizing things. She organized Bella, Dad and I for nearly twenty years and she loves the environment just about, if not more, than I do."

I laugh again because he is kind of adorable when his feathers are ruffled and he chuckles too – warm and deep.

"So it's not just to make sure you're not having any sexual relations with the pretty female staff then?" I tease but he doesn't answer straight away and I feel like I may have touched on a nerve.

"There's no one else, Rose. There hasn't been anyone since the day I first saw you on the platform," He speaks softly, so quietly that even with the small amount of noise in the office at this time I still have to listen hard to hear him.

I'm not sure what to make of that, although my heart is pounding and the butterflies are wearing gumboots and hopping like mad around my stomach from what I hear in between the lines.

"Not even a date?"

"Yeah, I've dated, but nothing that went further than a goodnight kiss on the cheek. Nothing that was ever more than once or twice and they always knew I didn't want anything more. I've been waiting, foolishly waiting to find the gumption to talk to you and I couldn't, wouldn't do anything like that to you. Especially now."

"Oh," I say. _So full of charm and wit_ , _Rosalie_.

Thank goodness I know he doesn't mind it when I can't find words.

"Yeah," He adds and we sit silently. I can almost feel the smile that is etched deep into his round face, twin divots marring his perfect skin with deeply perfect imperfections.

I have found out what those dimples taste like and the answer is heaven.

Another minute passes and he clears his throat, I straighten in my chair in an attempt to listen and at least stay somewhat conscious through our conversation and maybe I'll be able to participate this time. I give the office a quick - and what I hope is a covert - look over and notice that Weasel has disappeared, hopefully behind his own closed door. I breathe a little easier knowing we can carry on this conversation without too much worry he's around.

"I was going to ask you, you know?"

I'm kind of lost. "Ask me what?"

"What Mom asked you. Well sort of asked you. There's this big fundraiser thing that the company holds for the benefit of a bunch of different environmental and social causes within the city. They host it at the Museum of Natural History. It's no biggy if you can't come. I wasn't going until mom found me sending you texts and asked why-" He breaks off mid sentence.

"Why what?" Silence is his answer, which is odd because he's rarely silent, even when we're kissing. "Emmett?"

The endless quiet on his end of the line iis kind of making me feel uneasy. What the hell was he doing over there?

"I'm going to hang up, I have tons of work to do, Mac."

He breathes out in a long whoosh that echoes loudly through the phone, "I was sending you flowers, okay? And I may or may not have had a huge stupid ass grin on my face while I was doing so, and then Tom wanted to speak to me for a moment and Mom went snooping on my computer, the evidence was all there on my screen."

I snort. I can't help it. It's so fricken adorable and he's adorable and… he was sending me flowers?

"So that's why you wanted to know what floor I was on?"

"Yeah," Emmett mutters, almost sheepishly. "I didn't really need to know, I just wanted to hear your voice. I already called your house and got the right address, I figured you wouldn't tell me."

"You called my house?" my voice rises an entire octave and I'm halfway out of my chair, certain that at least a few faces have turned in my direction.

"Maybe?" he squeaks out. I giggle quietly and then his word vomit begins, "You did give me your number and I know you also said it was for emergencies and things but-" he sighs. "It's just that I can't stop thinking about you Rose. Always. Then I remembered you commenting on the lillies that are in the lobby at my place so I asked what they were and then... was this a mistake?"

I'm torn between giggling and blushing and just sighing out loud. Why did we let it take this long to get together? "No," I start, choosing my words carefully, "I think it's a lovely gesture; a lovely, wonderful, romantic gesture. Who'd you speak to at my house?"

Another silence. What is this with the quiet from him? I'm the one that usually is lost for words and crap at conversation around him. Unless…

"Did you talk to Alex?"

Silence.

This guessing game is really getting ridiculous, but in this instance where I'm checking every cell of my body on how I really feel about this, I kind of need it.

"Yeah." He answers when I'm about three quarters done with my 'am I really okay with this? I think I'm okay with this' emotion count.

"Oh."

_And I'm back to one word answers._

"He sounds like you. I mean, the way he speaks, the same tone and snark."

"He was _snarky_ with you?" I ask, slightly on the defense.

Emmett laughs, and I can almost picture him spinning from side to side in his seat. "Yeah, _that_ was exactly the way he asked why I needed your address. To quote your son, 'If you're her boyfriend then shouldn't you know this?'"

And now I'm a little mortified. Boyfriend? I hadn't actually used that word in the same sentence with Emmett at all. I'd said he was a friend and Alex and I had discussed that sometimes I stayed at his house… I was honest, I just hadn't labeled us yet. I wasn't exactly sure _what_ to label us.

"That sounds like my Alex," I finally murmur, after clearing my throat.

"He also asked when he was going to meet me," Emmett says softly, trepidation evident in his tone.

 _This_ I'm not quite prepared for. This is the reason I can't use words like 'boyfriend' when it comes to Emmett. Even though I really like him and I miss him when he's not around, boyfriend just doesn't feel… right. We're not partners either but, he's my _something_. I just haven't figured out what that something is yet.

So I answer with the same word that I give Alex when he asks. "Soon."

"Soon," Emmett echoes, almost like a sigh.

I don't want to make him sigh like that. I hate that I can't give either of them a definite date but, I'm not sure. I need to be sure about so many things before I merge the two parts of my life that for a short while have been so very separate. If things don't work out with Emmett, then Alex is left without a presence that (I hope) he'll really like having in his life. If things do work out, and get more serious, then I also need to know that Emmett gets along and can love Alex as much or more even than he may love me.

Alex still comes first, even with me letting Emmett in to my life this far, Alex will always be my priority.

"So, the charity thing tonight... will you be my date?" Emmett interrupts my internal tug of war getting us mostly back to the point of his call.

If I go to this with him, it'll be our first proper 'public' outing, among 'society' so to speak. There's a possibility that people who know my parents or even Royce's will be in attendance and tongues will wag. It's also a possibility for me to find out just what Emmett thinks we are together. The all-important first introduction.

_Friend?_

_Girlfriend?_

"Yes, I'll meet you there."

**oOo**

We've been inside the Roosevelt Rotunda for around an hour now, 'schmoozing' with the people Emmett works with and the heads of various cooperation's that he works for. Everyone we've met has commented on how lovely a couple we are and when Emmett introduced me to his boss, as 'his Rosie' I didn't even blush. Much.

He met me on the stairs outside, absolutely delicious dressed in black from head to toe – without tie. Instead, he'd left the first few buttons of his shirt open and a tiny, _tiny_ curl of his soft chest hair was poking out the top. As his arms enveloped me in our usual hug hello, he whispered into my ear how beautiful I looked and thanked me for coming. I could possibly have blamed my falter on the step I was standing on, not that _yet again_ his simple words had the power to unglue my link to gravity.

His hand has also never left my skin, from the small of my back to my elbow to simply holding my hand. Being lead around - or guided if that's a better use of the word - by Emmett could be somewhat seen as archaic but to me, it feels good. It feels lovely to be wanted and wanted to be protected in whatever way this is. I love how he can't stop touching me and, in all honesty, I love touching him in the same manner.

"This is your last chance to back out, Rosie."

"Oh, I'm pretty tough, Mac."

He sighs and pulls me in closer to his side, his touch burning into my side. "What have I asked you about calling me Mac? You're not one of the guys, Rosalie."

" _Rosalie,_ now is it?" I giggle and gasp as he pinches the skin just above my hip through my dress.

"You could have left the smarty pants home tonight"

"Who says I'm wearing any pants at all?" I whisper into his ear before sliding my lips across his cheek. His steady gait falters for a second, but he regroups and I kind of hope who we're heading toward didn't see and that I was quiet enough.

I've had a few champagnes now and my anxiety at being here in this crowd with my beautiful man has long since departed. As has, apparently, my brain to mouth filter.

Not exactly the best time for that but I did need some liquid courage for what he now wants me to do.

"You are a bad girl," he admonishes, turning his head so it's close to my ear, his breath all warm and leaving me wanting as it floats across my skin.

My body reacts in its usual way, all tingles and fireworks under my skin.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this meeting the parents thing now." I whisper, hoping I don't look as unsettled as I'm starting to feel.

"Oh, I think we should. You'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm not even that happy with the length on this dress and I'm sure my boobs are popping out."

He laughs and stops, spinning me back around until his arms are encircle my body, hands joined at the small of my back. Emmett bends down a little, so his big blues are in line with mine.

"Rosie, they've heard all about you; and they love me, and they'll love you because I lo – I like you." He pauses and skips the word I'm not entirely sure either of us are ready to say yet. He blinks and then his lips are a warm breath above mine, "I like you a lot, Rose. I know we don't say what we are, or put a label on us, but... you're my Rosie, and I'm yours. Well, as long as you'll have me."

"I guess I don't mind having you around." I grin and Emmett shakes his head chuckling before kissing me hard and fast, then we're moving again.

I squeeze his hand in mine and take a deep breath as we slow down in front of some extremely large dinosaur exhibit.

"Mom, Dad?"

I take a deep breath and smile like my life depends on it.

This older couple, both with silver sprinkled through familiar dark curls (his dad) and a short straight bob (his mother) turn around at his voice and immediately I see the resemblance.

His mother is the first to put her hands out, clasping my one free one in hers, she smiles so wide and her eyes twinkle in a manner I'm used to seeing only in her son.

"So you're his Rosie," she says, her handshake warm and then the next thing I know I'm wrapped in the arms of the petite and slightly plump Mrs. McCarty (or as I know her to be, Mrs. Bird.) She's squeezing me tight and I think I'm giggling as Emmett and his dad share a shake of the head that could be identical. The dimples that show on both of their cheeks are definitely a family trait. I wonder for a microsecond if Mr. McCarty's dimples let him get away with as much as his son's already do with me. Hence, me meeting his parents for the first time which feels like a _big_ moment for us; the us that aren't exactly labeled.

But I'm his and he is mine.

Which is enough… for the moment.

"Ma, I think Rosie would like to be able to breathe again before the night is over." Emmett taps on his mother's shoulder and she finally pulls back, wiping at a small tear on her cheek.

"She's lovely, Emmy bear."

I raise a brow in his direction and the man is blushing. _Blushing_.

" _Mom_ , I promised you could meet my girl only if you didn't embarrass me."

Her sharp eyes turn at once to gaze up at him. "Emmy bear is fine, Ma." Emmett stumbles, hands facing up as if to physically counter the look she's sending his way.

"Ruth, you did promise." Emmett's father takes my hand and I see Mrs. McCarty pout (another trait I've seen in her son) and his smile echoes in the same blue eyes I so often find myself lost in. Albeit, these ones are etched with lines of laughter.

"Hello Rosalie, Andrew McCarty," he kisses my cheek and I swear my legs turn to jelly, "and the one who was holding onto you like a life raft is my Ruth. How are you enjoying this evening so far?"

Andrew or Mr. McCarty – I'm not exactly sure what to call him – is rubbing slow circles above my thumb where he still holds my hand. His skin feels weathered but soft, most likely with age, as Emmett has told me he was about thirty when he married and thirty one when his son was born.

"Very much so, Mr. Mc-"

"Let's just cut the formalities, Rosalie. You're my son's girlfriend I think you can use Drew and Ruth. Unless Mom and Pop are more to your liking." He grins and I see the same teasing smirk that I just witnessed with Emmett on the walk over.

I feel my cheeks flush with heat and my eyes widen a little with the word 'girlfriend'. Obviously Emmett has used that word with his parents before, and the fact that he has labelled what we are with people that mean so much to him means all the more to me.

"Stop flirting with your son's young woman, Drew," Ruth admonishes but it's all in jest and I can see Emmett's cheeks are burning rosy red.

"Yeah, what Mom said, Pop." Emmett wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close into his side. I take a few seconds to lean in, breathing in that intoxicating scent that is his fresh cologne and the underlying spice that is Emmett. It's grounding and exactly what I need as my heart is still racing a mile a minute just from this first interaction with his family.

"Where's the brat?" Emmett asks after his parents share a look and a smile. I really hope it's a smile of how happy they see we both are and how happy he makes me, and I - hopefully - make him.

Ruth shakes her head. "Emmett, how many times have I asked you not to refer to your sister that way. It's bad enough at the office you can't remember to call me my maiden name so people stop thinking of me as your mother and more as your assistant. You and your sister should be able to leave those childish names in the past."

"Aww Ma, she knows it's a joke. It's exactly like when she calls me-"

"Oh there you are, Fluffy!"

A new female voice calls from behind us and I feel Emmett stiffen.

Tonight appears to be the night for newly revealed nicknames. Thank goodness all my family are safely tucked away in Brooklyn and the history surrounding Silly Sally and Dame Nellie Nonuts stays safe.

For now.

"Brat, you know this means war." Emmett turns and lets me go – the first time tonight – and grabs his sister – the infamous Brat/Bella or she of the Brown Cow everything – and pulls her into a headlock while she shouts "not the hair you oaf!"

People are staring but it hasn't phased either of them as he rubs the once straight locks on top of her head and she attempts to bite his arm. There are tears in my eyes from laughing and I can barely see a tall shape move into my line of sight, handing me what could be a napkin.

I wipe under my eyes carefully, clearing the tears of laughter with what isn't scratchy but soft and linen-like. I blink and standing before me is a rather tall and what can only be described as dashing, bronze haired man. He grins and it's a little off, moving up on one side more than the other.

"You looked like you needed this," he says, moving to kiss Ruth's cheeks and shake Drew's hand. When he's done and Emmett and Bella have finished (Bella having somehow escaped his clutches with a well aimed kick to the shins), he winds his arms around Bella, his hand protectively covering her stomach.

 _Edward_.

Emmett is still hobbling and pouting as leans his head on my shoulder, one arm slug around my waist. "Did you see that, Rosie? She kicked me," he whines, pointing at his sister like I should be the one doing something to defend him.

"You deserved it," I say with a hand patting the dark waves of his hair. Bella laughs and her mirth echoes in the dark brown of her eyes.

"I think we'll keep this one," she says with a nod to her mother and now it's my turn to blush.

Emmett drops a kiss on my cheek before taking my hand in his, winding our fingers together. "Wow, if I had of known all I had to do to get family approval on my girl was to have her take your side when you clearly injured me, then I would have done this a lot sooner."

"I wasn't taking sides!" The look Emmett sends me has my straight face faltering, "Fine, I was but you did mess up her hair. And everyone knows you don't mess with the 'do."

Emmett rolls his eyes and turns his head into the crook of my neck, his breath all warm and leaving me wanting as he whispers, "You don't mind when I mess with yours."

I giggle and hope that no one is close enough to hear his last remark. His parents are busy catching up with Bella and Edward and surprisingly enough the crowd around us are moving around not giving us an extra thought. I've often been in here with Alex over the years, he loves this museum the most, and I think it has to do with that movie he made me take him to see at least ten times at the theatre. At night and with the ambient lights set up it's a different sight altogether. Add in the waiters, the shiny fabrics and adult conversation, it's unlike anything I've ever been a part of before. It feels bizarre to be here, with people of society that I most definitely would have been a part of if my life hadn't changed and taken me on a completely different path.

If I had of listened to my mother's advice, 'just let it slide, it would only happen once' or 'most men shop around Rosalie, if you weren't studying so hard he wouldn't have strayed.' If I had of come home an hour later like I was supposed to. If seven weeks before that we'd used protection and not forgotten that my pill was made ineffective by the cold meds I'd been on. If, if, if.

I would have been here on Royce's arm doing my best impersonation of a Stepford Wife. Seen and not heard.

At one time, he'd loved my brash ways. The girl who was quick-witted and had been the best captain of the schools Debate Team that they'd ever had. The girl who asked him out. The girl who thought she could have it all. Career, education, husband, happiness…

"Hey, Rosie? Rosalie, where'd you go?" Emmett is standing in front of me now, a confused look on his face and I shake the past off with a tiny grin.

"No place I want to go again. How about you tell me one more time your theory on why the dinosaurs _really_ died out?"

Emmett takes my arm before saying a quick bye to his family. He steers me around the exhibits, whispering tall tales and having me in stitches of laughter at every turn. We're approaching one of the larger exhibits and he stands behind me, his hands on my waist and we just stop and stare at the bones. They're backlit with greens and violets. It's otherworldly and for a while we say nothing.

I'm miles away, just loving the feeling of sharing something as simple as a night out with the man I - have a lot of feelings for and might be able to label one day - when a tenor I haven't heard in years is calling my name in what sounds like disbelief.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here,"

I freeze and it feels like the room has turned into an arctic tundra with the chill that runs across my skin. Emmett leans in close "Do we not like this guy?" he whispers, a rough edge to his words that I've never heard before, protective almost.

I barely shake my head no, then Emmett turns us around his arms still wrapped around me but he's shifted so I'm a little further behind him than before. Definitely protective.

"Royce."


	9. Chapter 9

"A little bit of resolve is what I need now."

  
~-0-~

I can feel his eyes moving over my body and subconsciously I press myself into Emmett's side as some sort of safety reflex.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"I was invited."

His brow raises and Emmett's arms tighten around my waist.

"She's my guest." Emmett's voice still has that tightened sound to it, like he's speaking through clenched teeth.

I've told him most of my history with Royce, but not all. Whenever things have come up in conversation he hasn't reacted... that well. Unless you count _well_ as jaw clenching, fist making and the odd grunt in conversation. Then he was doing just splendid.

I think from just hearing what little I have said about Royce, without previously having met him, Emmett isn't a fan.

Royce's eyes move away from my chest, a once favorite body part of mine, and up to meet Emmett's stare. From the tone that Emmett has used, I would wager that it's more glare than anything else.

"Guest? Right," he snorts.

"How are you?" I ask, forcing myself to be pleasant, wanting to steer us away from any type of confrontation at all. Not here, not now and not in front of Emmett.

Royce stares at me, and shrugs. "Fine. You look... well." He looks slightly taken aback at our polite conversation, as if he expected fireworks and I'm not even giving him the satisfaction of a spark.

"Excuse me, Mr. McCarty. They need you for your speech, now." A guy in a tux with one of those headphone things taps Emmett on the shoulder. Emmett doesn't let me go, just replies he'll be there in a minute and the man in the tux looks flustered. I don't think he is told to wait very often.

I turn so I can look up at Emmett. Hiis face is a passive mask, one I've never seen before.

"McCarty? As in the McCarty's of MBM International?" Royce asks with wide eyes.

Emmett grunts in a positive manner and Royce laughs. Loudly. Yet again, people are staring in our direction but instead of me giggling with the people I'm with, I'm left feeling like his laughter is aimed _at_ us.

"Oh Rosalie, you're still aiming for the stars, huh?" His gaze shifts from me to Emmett, his eyes cold, the opposite to the tone he's using, "I'd be holding on tight to my purse strings if I were you," he says between chuckles. "This one will try and take you for all your worth."

"I don't think so," Emmett says softly, glaring at Royce.

"I wouldn't be too sure. She even got herself pregnant to try and hold onto me. But that backfired on you, didn't it, Rosalie? Couldn't even give me a normal kid. Should have known the Hale genes would have some problems. You only had to look at the older sister." Royce laughs again and there is a rush of whispers around us while my eyes sting with unshed tears.

Fuck this man. Fuck him for being here and attempting to wreck what I have with Emmett. To sully what is just beginning to grow.

"As I heard it, there was more a problem with you and the help. Or being a little too _hands on_ with the staff, as it were." Emmett's voice is like nothing I've ever heard before. It's tight and low and almost as if he's choosing his words carefully.

With Emmett's hints at what I've told him, I'm transported to when I was young and stupid, believing that Royce was at work when he said he was. The smile on my face when I called into our apartment, hands full of ingredients for his favorite meal and the sound of it all smashing on the floor boards at what I saw. Familiar shoes hiked up on familiar shoulders, grunts and groans that I thought were for my ears alone. The shiny top of our antique dining table squeaking with every slide of skin. Royce's smirk when he realized he and our maid weren't alone...

I just hope Emmett knows me enough by now from all the little things we've shared to realize that what Royce is hinting at isn't true at all. And in event, the doctors had told me that Alex's hearing problems were purely chance. A one in a million type thing that could have happened to anyone and had nothing to do with genes or stress or anything I could have changed at all.

Royce stops his childish chuckles and straightens up. It seems Emmett has hit a nerve with my 'delightful' ex and I can see Royce sizing him up.

_Good luck there, lightweight. He's got thirty pounds of pure muscle on you!_

"Do you realize who you're talking to?" Royce's face has turned slightly red and I can see he still hasn't lost that flaring nostrils thing when he's annoyed.

"Do you realize who _you_ are talking to, and about?" Emmett steps out from beside me, hands shaking and voice raw. For one microsecond, I'm picturing them both in some romantic period drama, Royce pulling out a glove and slapping Emmett's face and challenging him to a duel.

Which Emmett would win, of course.

"You're defending _her?"_ Royce wags a finger in my direction, his tone one of disbelief and anger, "She's no one. Nothing compared to you and I. Her own family disowned her. She's nothing but-"

"If you say trash I swear to god that I'll send you to the ground with one hit right here and now," Emmett cuts in and his hands that were previously shaking are still doing so, but in the form of fists.

Holy shit, he would totally defend my honor. The sick feeling in my stomach from before, letting myself think that Royce's words and accusations would get to Emmett - _my_ Emmett - are now replaced by adoration that he believes none of it at all.

Royce sneers and doesn't move - obviously having a death wish - and continues on. "She _is_ trash. She's nothing. Nobody wanted her when I first took pity on our school's frigid bitch that was a perfect Daddy's girl. She was naive to think that I hadn't slept around on her back then. It wasn't like that ring I put on her finger just to shut her stupid father up was stopping me either. The joke was on me though, wasn't it, because she went and got herself pregnant and now the girl who had everything has nothing. Nothing but my alimony, huh, Rosalie? Though that might be ending because you _know_ who the McCarty's are, don't you, Rosalie? Only Fortune 500 for you, isn't it sweetheart? I'm surprised it took you so long to find another willing party. Has she done that thing with her tongue yet to you becau-"

It was right about then that I saw Royce hit the floor, red spots staining the white of his shirt and his hand covering his nose. More red slipped between his fingers and my ears were filled with white noise.

His mouth moved and his free hand shook at me, one finger wildly stabbing in my direction. Royce even shook off two suited security guards and headed through the crowd that parted quickly around him. Red droplets marred the floor in his wake and it was only when Emmett's hand enveloped mine, all big and warm, that sound came back and so did my senses.

"Did you, did you hit him?" I ask, without any tone.

"I did."

"Okay."

We stand there as I let the impact of what just happened filter through my body and up to my brain. It occurs to me after a few minutes that before all this, or in the middle of it that Emmett was supposed to make a speech.

"What about your speech?" I ask still staring at the red on the floor.

I feel him shrug beside me, "They'll find someone else to take care of it. I only had to give over the big check anyway."

I nod, because I don't know what to say or what to do. I keep seeing Royce falling and feeling like I should have done something, anything. Emmett squeezes my hand gently and curses softly. I look down to where we're joined and see his knuckles already swelling and scrapes with blood that may not even be his own.

"You're hurt," I say, lifting his hand between us and gently turning his wrist this way and that so I can get a closer look for more damage.

"A little," he murmurs, hissing as I twist his hand the wrong way.

I look up then, and this big man, this big beautiful man has the strangest expression on his face. It's pain and sadness, worry and concern and a tiny bit of pride.

I smile and press my lips to the underside of his jaw. "Thank you," I whisper and all the other emotions slip away revealing the one that I see on a regular basis. His 'more than like' look, his 'maybe one day love' look. His definite 'I want you' look and 'I'll do anything for you' smile.

"Anyone would have done it," he shrugs and cries out a small 'ow' from the movement.

I lean up and this time he bends down a little for me, so our lips align. Even though the kiss is chaste, a mere brush of skin on skin, it melts me from the notion behind it. The fact that he cares and doesn't want to believe in the lies about my past. The fact that he stands up for me - even though I could do it myself - but he knows when it comes to Royce that I'm strong, but not strong enough. Even after all these years I still sat there and let Royce get to me, instead of believing in myself. Believing in what I have with Emmett.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as he rests his forehead against mine, his sapphire blues hidden from sight, leaving me only to gaze upon the soft dark lines of his lashes.

"What are you sorry for?"

"That I didn't hit him first."

Emmett erupts into laughter and after a few seconds I can't help but join in. With every guffaw and snort the sour taste of Royce and his words left are washed away with the sweetness that is Emmett and who we are when we're together. More importantly, who I am when we're together. His confidence in us, in me, gives _me_ confidence.

"Come on, champ," I rub my free hand over his cheek, pulling his face down for one long, lingering kiss. "Let's get some ice on this."

**o0o**

Much later after the dancing, wining and dining, we're ensconced on his beat-up leather couch and the regular heavy petting is occurring.

Now, let it be known that Emmett McCarty is a fantastic kisser.

He is in the realm of stupendous: should-be-some-sort-of-guru-on-a-great-kiss. He should teach classes on how amazingly he moves his lips, the tantalizing way his tongue tattoos its memory upon your own. He should have a doctorate in "Soft Brushes and Hard Presses", with a masters degree in "Nips and Sucks and Flicks."

Making out with Emmett is one of my most favorite things. After tonight though, after being introduced to his family and the way he stood up for me...

Honestly, violence shouldn't be hot, but every time I've closed my eyes I've pictured the way Emmett looked throwing that punch.

Then I imagine how he'd look practicing to throw a right hook like that. Probably half naked, and covered in a sheen of sweat, and then he'd need to drink water, and maybe he'd pour it over his head, shaking his wet curls from side to side...

I want something more than just kissing tonight. A _lot_ more.

Naked more.

Emmett has put on this CD, some band I don't know, but it's slow and sweet and the guys voice reminds me of the way Emmett speaks when we are alone and in our 'bubble' as I've come to call it. The 'bubble' is in that moment, that perfect moment when we are quiet and breathing in sync and staring. I love that moment. Before a kiss, after his slight scruff gives me stubble burn on my chin (a most interesting thing to have to explain to Alex later). It is in these times, these quiet times, when he'll say the things I need to hear.

" _I love the way you look right now."_

" _Oh, Rosie…"_

Then he'll run a finger from my cheek down my jaw to my chin and tilt my head up, eyes locked and he'll grin.

And I'll swoon a little. On the inside.

Okay, on the outside a little too.

It is the unsaid, the between the lines that every time we have one of these 'bubble' moments it is enough for me to realize that what I am feeling _more_ of, he is too.

An unnamed more, but a more nontheless.

We're kissing. Just perfect kissing, slow and languid, and he tastes like the vanilla soft serve we shared on the way home and hands are… on the move.

His beautifully large, soft hands are exploring under the floaty floral dress I've worn, along the outside of my thigh up, up, up and then the laughter starts.

From me.

I'm a nervous laugher.

I push his hands back down as I register the somewhat look of shock on his face and try to slide out from my previously loved position underneath him. He won't let me though, only shaking his head and keeping me in place with a searing kiss while his fingers gather the ruffled material up in his hands, revealing my extremely bad choice in underwear.

Spanx.

I'm wearing Spanx.

And now _he's_ laughing. Emmett thinks this is hilarious. I feel like I'm stuck in that moment from Bridget Jones Diary when Hugh Grant discovers his leading lady is wearing great big granny panties.

Emmett's much better looking than Hugh Grant anyway.

Colin Firth on the other hand…

… No, Emmett would win there too.

I want to crawl into the space between the couch seats. I wish for some sort of fire emergency in his building or at the very least his phone to ring, but no. Seeing as this is an impossibility, I just cover my eyes, feel my face heat up and then word vomit all over the place.

"You'd be wearing these suckers too, if you still had a jelly belly that wobbled enough to rival Santa's on a lean year, underneath a dress like this."

"Stop laughing."

"Emmett."

"Emmett, let me up."

"Seriously, let me up now."

"I'm warning you..."

He stops laughing when I flick the tip of his nose and I can see he finally realizes that I don't find the situation as funny as he does. I do not really find it funny at all. Emmett doesn't let me up though. Only sits back a little so most of his weight is off my body. He leans one arm on the top of the couch while rubbing at his nose with his free hand and the quiet between us is big enough to warrant its own breathing space in the room.

As the seconds (that drag on for hours) slowly creep along, and I can sit still no longer. I push my skirt down and close my eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face when his interest in me suddenly dies out in a hot flash of skin-colored lycra enhanced fabric. Maybe it's from seeing Royce tonight that my usual happiness in my own skin has turned to worry about what Emmett will think. Royce was always about appearance: me watching what I ate, me dressing the right way, me being the perfect accessory to hang off his arm. While I know that Emmett hasn't said anything to me before about my looks, the fact is that he hasn't seen me naked either. My earlier laughter has given way to nerves and worry and I don't know how to shake it off.

"Hey," he whispers after more time passes, and I've covered my face with my arm to hide the tears that are starting to build.

"Oh, Rosie… hey now," Emmett says again, even more softly than before as his fingers wrap around my wrist and move my arm away. I keep my eyes closed until I feel his lips on my cheeks pressing lightly over the tracks where a few tears have escaped.

"You know I don't care about that, don't you? Whatever it is that you're hiding under these hilarious panties is probably just as gorgeous as the rest of you. Why don't you let me see?"

I chew the inside of my cheek; he even _sounds_ a little like Hugh in that movie.

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a road map of lines across their once flat stomach." I say as I feel the lightest of touches over my eyelids and across my brow.

"I bet they're not that bad."

I snort. "Um, yes they are."

"Are not."

"So."

"Not."

"So."

"Show me."

"I don't think so." I attempt to wiggle back up the couch but he's having none of it. Emmett shifts up on his knees, his hands moving to settle on my hips, gripping tightly.

"Rosalie, just show me."

This is mortifying. Here I was, ready to take things to the next level with someone who I trust. Someone who obviously likes me for who I am, not who I'm _not_ and it has to be the _one_ night that I'm wearing something so... unsexy. Then comes the factor that we're both completely sober. We've been kissing that long that the buzz I'm feeling now is purely to do with being in his company.

I was going to get a fake tan before we attempted anything naked together.

"Rosie, please. I promise I won't laugh or do a face or whatever it is you think I'm going to do."

His comment and sincerity echoing in all that he's said has me opening my eyes. I stare up at his face, dimples deep and smile wide. I can see he's being honest, it echoes in his eyes yet still... There's a twinkle in those baby blues that says humor at my situation is definitely still part of the equation.

"Where has my big brave girl that was going to come to my aid tonight with her tiny little fist gone?" He asks with a hint of sarcasm to his tone.

I snort, opening my eyes. "I would have, you know."

Emmett nods, biting his bottom lip.

"No really, I was thinking about doing the same thing seconds before you did it." I push up off the back of the couch where I was lying with Emmett between my legs and rest on my elbows. "Seriously, I would have knocked him into next week!"

Emmett snorts out a "Sure babe," as his fingers start moving. He's bunching my skirt up but I ignore it because I'm fairly certain with the slight shake to his shoulders that he's laughing at me.

"Do you want a demonstration? Because I _will_ show you, I don't really want to mess your pretty face up but, a girl has to do what a girl has to do."

He snorts again, dipping his head and when his tongue traces the curve of my collarbone. I moan, falling back against the arm of the couch and settle my hands on his chest. My head tips back as he nips and licks his way up the column of my neck.

"Oh god," I sigh and then his fingers are creeping up again, light touches setting my skin on fire. "Emmett..."

He _hmmm's_ in response as his thumb drags back and forth over the hem of my god-awful granny panties. His lips are now at that hollow behind my ear and he's doing this combination wet kiss, warm breath thing that has the hair on my neck stand on end. My nipples are so hard they may just slice their way through my expensive push up bra and cocktail dress that Tanya loaned me. _What were we discussing again?_

"So tough, my girl is," Emmett says before his teeth drag lightly across the lobe of my ear. Then he's back sucking on the pulse point that is beating rapidly just under the surface.

"Tough, oh _yesss,"_ The word becomes a hiss, because he's left a trail of featherlight kisses across the swell of my breast and he's stopped right in the middle. Emmett has shifted my body so his leg is between mine, and when he leans forward to nuzzle at my neck again, he presses _right_ there and it's heavenly.

"Rosie," he says my name again and again as I hook my leg over his and bring his body closer. I can still feel his fingertips riding back and forth across the top of those hideous Spanx but I care no longer. As long as he keeps grinding against me just like that and he keeps his mouth all over my skin, _nothing_ else matters. It really is beginning to feel far too hot in here and even though my cocktail dress is now only really covering my chest, it needs to go.

My hands (that were previously shifted from his chest to focusing on holding Emmett back with a death grip on his upper arms) finally remember that I can touch him too - and that Emmett is also wearing far too much clothing. His shirt is still on, though he rolled the cuffs up the moment we left the museum and walked down to McDonalds, because Emmett wanted a soft serve for kicking Royce's ass.

My fingertips slide down his shoulders, over his gloriously broad back and meet my second favorite place on Emmett's body. His ass. My hands then move to said ass and pull said ass forward. Emmett grunts and my name is a sigh on his lips once more. This time broken into two syllables.

His lips crash into mine and we're kissing in earnest now. Panties, completely forgotten about... until he snaps the band against my skin in what I think might have been some silent attempt at getting the things off. Too bad they stick like a second skin at the best of times.

This time however, is not best at all.

He tries again and they _thwack_ loudly, pinching my soft belly-skin. I groan at their resilience, cursing the moment I ever thought I needed to put them on. Moment ruiner: Spanx it is.

"Jesus, are these glued on?" Emmett mutters against my lips as he hooks his fingers under the elastic on either side of my hips and pulls... effectively trapping his fingertips against my skin and the dreaded 'helpful' underwear from hell.

I snort, because of the whole nervous laugher thing. Emmett watches my face for a moment, then I slap his ass to let him know it's different this time. He raises his brow with yet another question and I nod that is definitely okay this time. Emmett finally joins me and we're falling off the couch bringing me tumbling on top of him. The laughter is coming from both of us in peals now until I have to roll off his body and lie on the rug next to him, his fingers having been released in our fall. We lie, side by side, until the chuckles turn into wheezes and then sighs until we catch each others eye and it starts all over again.

The _mood_ as it were, is officially broken.

Well, it is until Emmett rolls on his side. His blue eyes dark with want, his lips all puffy with the fantastic kissing that has gone on and he stares at me. I must look an absolute mess, I know his hands were in my hair for a while and I've laughed so hard my face must be still splotchy and red from where I was out of breath.

Yet still he stares.

"What?" I ask, squirming a little under the intensity of his gaze.

He smiles and uses one hand to brush a stray strand of hair off my cheek and behind my ear.

" _What_?" I ask again as his thumb traces over my lips. It's a soft and gentle caress but to my oversensitive skin it sends tingles racing through my body, sparks lighting what was previously doused by embarrassing lingerie just a moment ago.

"I love you, Rose."

I must have been quiet for too long because his eyes get a little wide and I think I'm holding my breath as he continues on in a rush of sound.

"I know it's too soon and this isn't the perfect moment but, you're so beautiful and I love that you make me laugh and that you worry about the stupidest things because none of them matter. It doesn't matter about the underwear you're wearing that obviously has some sort of adhesive that prevents horny boyfriends from getting under it. It doesn't matter that we've barely started getting to know each other because every single part of me feels that this is right. That being with you, is right. _You're_ right for me, Rosalie, and I love you."

I blink and blink and I can't... I can't find the words.

"You're killing me here, Rosie. Could you at least tell me I'm some ridiculous romantic sap and that I should shut up and kiss you?"

I know he's nervous now, he's blinking like crazy, just like he has done in the past when he's been worried about a reaction I might have. My hand moves up to cup his cheek, fingers sliding into soft sable curls and I pull him close.

"You're a ridiculous, romantic sap and you should shut up and kiss me," I whisper as the tip of his nose brushes mine. "And I love you, too."

"You do?" his eyes smile, the silver swirling amongst the ocean blue that takes my breath away each and every time we're this close. I feel fit to burst with all the emotional fireworks going on inside my body, inside my heart. _He_ makes me feel this way and the fact that he said the word that I've been avoiding because I felt it was too soon only triples the effect of what both of us saying it now means.

"I do. I really do. I promise you can meet Alex. I've only been waiting until I knew that this could work, that we could work. I've put so much on hold for him, wanting to be there like my parents never really were for me. I've put _me_ on hold but I can't do that anymore. Being with you, having you there for me in ways I never expected or thought that I'd find with someone is enough to make me realize that I was the one that shut myself off. I was the one that held back, thinking that if I did, Alex would never get hurt."

I take a deep breath and focus on the emotion I can now pinpoint in his eyes, in his hand still on my cheek. "The thing is Emmett, it was me that didn't want to get hurt. Sure, I would never want to parade a line of potential father figures around Alex, but he has that in Carlisle. He has this stable base that I've stumbled upon and had grow around me without even noticing. Alex wants me to be happy. He tells me in all these little ways and I've always brushed them aside thinking it wasn't my time yet."

"And it is now?"

I nod and comb my fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. "It is, with you it is."

We are quiet for a moment, each lost in our own admissions and each others.

"I meant what I said earlier tonight, that you have me as long as you want me, Rosie." Emmett says huskily.

"Always. I love you." It feels so real, so right to say those words and happiness bubbles inside my body to the point of overflowing as he kisses me hard, his thumb brushing softly on my skin.

He pulls back for a moment and I can see that he has the bubbly, fizzing feeling too. "Say it again."

"I love you." I giggle and his smile is so big, so genuine and wide I actually lose sight of his dimples.

"Again."

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo-" I mumble against his lips but our kiss is strange because neither one of us can stop grinning.

Saying the words becomes doesn't matter after a few moments because I can feel it in his touch. I can feel it in the way he holds me, the way he shifts us so he can touch more of me and my hands can feel all of him. I know it in his every breath, because the bubbles from before are popping and fizzing now like champagne, effervescing all over the place.

Just as I'm pulling at his belt loops, trying to get him closer, he's gone. I look up to find Emmett on his feet, face flushed and hair a mop of wild knots and his shirt is undone. Not that I remember touching the buttons, but obviously I did. I force myself not to follow the downy soft line of hair that leads south over hard earned muscle and tone. Perhaps from boxing...

"Scissors!" he says proudly, shaking a finger in the air, like it's the answer to some extremely important question but I have no idea what that question was.

I quirk my right brow up and he laughs reaching down and pulls at the waist band on those stupid granny panties till they snap against my skin.

"Scissors." He nods with a seriousness that is only belied by the still super smile stuck on his face.

"And then..." I trail off, knowing but wanting it confirmed all the same.

"Oh baby, you won't know what hit you." He smirks and with a flash of dimples he's gone and I lay there, giggling with glee.

He loves me, and I've never felt so whole.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mine is yours and yours is mine."

  
~-0-~

I can hear him in the hall. His shiny black shoes dropped one after the other to the floor and the slight scuffle of him pushing them into place beside the others that seem to constantly reside there. I call out my hello and he calls back, saying he's so glad to be home.

Home.

I don't expect him to come to me first. His deep timbre has made his presence known, like it has done every night since we moved in together three years ago. I know from the increase in sound that he's found Alex. I'll probably need to go down and grab them both in thirty minutes when dinner is ready because they'll somehow not hear me when I call that it's done. Just like they have done ever since Emmett created a music room for them both out of the room that was once his office.

I feel more than see Emmett come into the kitchen. The scent of his familiar cologne surrounds me as his body wraps around my own. His chin comes to rest on my shoulder, soft lips brushing against my neck as his hand moves to cover mine. Emmett lifts the spoon, filled with his favorite Thai curry and blows on the contents, before bringing it to his mouth.

"Watch it, babe. It's hot."

"I know," he whispers. I shift, giving him room and watch as his eyes slide closed and an appreciative moan leaves his mouth.

"Good?" I ask as his hand leaves mine, only to wrap around my waist and pull my body back against his. Emmett mutters what sounds like a yes, but his lips are busy once more on my neck as I return the spoon to the pot.

"You're wearing that new perfume Mom bought you."

I nod and sigh because his fingers are sliding under my blouse and across my stomach. Gooseflesh peppers my skin at his touch, my own hand lifting behind me to meet the silken curls on his head.

"Remind me to thank her for that."

I agree, pulling lightly on his hair. Emmett's lips meet mine and I can feel his smile beneath my kisses. "Let's not talk about your Mom right now," I suggest, as I turn in his arms, away from the stove so we're facing each other. Emmett's hands sweep over my ass, lifting me off my feet and I yelp. His tongue traces along my bottom lip and in no time is moving against my own.

_God, that man knows how to kiss._

He steps backward and spins us so that I end up sitting on the edge of the island counter, my legs wrapped around his waist with my arms crossed at the wrist behind his head. Emmett's hands wander up and down my back as our lips do all the reacquainting that words usually do. The embers of want and need that haven't been stoked in days because he's been away at a conference are slowly stirring into life, warming me from the middle out. But there's dinner and Alex to worry about so I eventually pull back, albeit reluctantly.

"Where are you going?" He murmurs against the pulse point on my neck, a favorite place of his to suck and nibble to get my temperature rising.

"Dinner, Alex, homework, new case to work on, _oh god that's good,"_ I moan as his fingertips brush over my breast, his hand having somehow worked its way under silk and lace without my knowledge.

"Alex is jamming with his 'just-a-friend', Penny, on Skype so he'll be busy for at least twenty minutes."

"I wonder when he'll finally make it official?"

"If he's anything like his mother, it won't be for a while." he snorts and I slap his chest.

"What about dinner, then?" I ask, wanting to cover all the reasons why we _shouldn't_ keep doing this, even though I now really want to. My fingers tug at his shirt so I can touch the toned, taut skin that lies underneath. He babbles something against my chest as I scratch my fingernails lightly through the soft hair that leads down to greater things.

"I turned the stove off when I was feeling up your ass."

"Work?"

He stops with that word, his fingers stuck between the last of the buttons on my shirt, my own having just begun to unzip his pants. Emmett's eyes are so dark with want and love that it almost makes me wish I had shut up and not brought the real world into our little corner of the kitchen.

"Babe, we agreed, work stops the moment we leave the office."

He's right. When I'd been worried about what the affects of me taking the bar and actually working as a lawyer would have on Alex and us, he made me a deal that we'd separate the two. Work was left _at_ work. The only time we discuss anything related to it is for important occasions like benefits and charity things that his, now _our_ , company hold regularly. I'm not a partner nor do I even have my own office, but I work in the same building.

Yes, it took me a year after we'd gotten together, six months after Alex and I had moved in, to actually think more about what I wanted for _my_ future. It was actually Alex that pushed me to do it. I'd come home from a late lunch with Esme and Bella (now also close friends who both liked to needle and push me into doing things) and found my son and Emmett bent over his laptop, researching when I could next take the bar exam.

Emmett had been working on his doctoral thesis at home and Alex had asked about becoming a lawyer and the reasons Emmett why he was continuing his education. One question led to another and by the time I'd walked in the door, they'd both bombarded me with information on when and where I could take the exam and a list of potential work places where I could intern.

It was a little like an ambush, but after I listened to what they had to say over a cup of coffee and the delicious scones Emmett had made earlier in the day, I had to agree. Well, at the very least agree to attempting the bar exam once, just to see if I could. I didn't tell them it was something I'd been thinking about since Weasel had started being even more of a jerk knowing who I had a relationship with. Their 'help' was just the push I needed to get me out the door.

Alex helped me study, Emmett quizzed me and eventually, one extremely wet and dreary morning I walked in Rosalie Hale and walked out Rosalie Hale, Attorney at Law.

Months later I was still trying to get my foot in _any_ door, being a woman of my age and so long out of law school wasn't working to my advantage. One Saturday, Emmett's dad, Drew, called and offered me a position as a runner on one of the larger cases he was working on for the city council. I hesitated and told him I'd think about it. It felt too close to home, too much like charity to just say yes. There was also a question of what would happen if I turned out to be really bad at this? Would it affect his relationship with me and my son... with his son?

When Alex stormed into the living room moments after I'd ended my call, demanding to know why I hadn't said 'yes to Pops' (what Drew had insisted he be called once he and Ruth had met Alex) I couldn't give him an acceptable answer. He'd been listening on one of the extensions in the house and wasn't impressed with my so-called 'brush off' of his adoptive grandfather.

Alex had finally found the grandparents he'd always hoped for in Emmett's mom and dad. Drew and Ruth spoiled him rotten and made him - as they did me - feel like one of the family from the first moment of introduction. Alex was constantly spending time there or asking to visit 'Aunt B and Uncle E' (which really was code for wanting to see their son, Anthony). If the McCarty's doted on Alex, the same could be said for Alex about Anthony. He adored that little boy from the moment Emmett had taken him to the hospital to visit when I was stuck at work.

Alex had fallen in love with all the McCartys, much like I had, and the thought that I would even consider saying no to Pops was beyond his understanding. By the time Emmett arrived back from practice with his band - who still played every Friday night at Charlie's - I was still no closer to convincing Alex it was a bad idea. When he was backed up by Emmett, I had really no choice but to see reason and let any concerns I may have disappear with their support.

They did that a lot, those two. Forming some little team of "make Rosie/Mom do something she thinks she shouldn't even though she knows she should." Anytime they did, my annoyance could never rise too high considering the way their relationship had started. Rocky would have been describing it at its best.

The first night we had Emmett over for a meal was awkward from the moment Emmett walked in and said hello, with Alex just grunting in response. Emmett was unsure of how to act around a pre-teenage boy and Alex had never seen me with anyone that I was interested in romantically. Even though Alex had wanted to meet Emmett, when he was finally in the same room with him, he ignored Emmett completely. From dinner right through to dessert and then coffee he barely acknowledged Emmett's existence. I'd gotten angrier and angrier as the night wore on.

I was completely unimpressed by Alex's behavior, snapping at more than just him as time dragged on. Eventually, Esme dragged me out onto the roof to get some air, leaving the boys inside on their own, while Carlisle and the girls did the dishes. By the time I'd taken several deep breaths and paced around the deck, letting the city noise and lights soothe me enough to go inside, the atmosphere was a _lot_ different.

I found them, my man and my son, engaged in an epic Rock Band battle (the game thing he'd wanted for his birthday that Emmett had helped me find and buy). Emmett was on guitar, Alex on drums and for some reason, Carlisle was singing. Horribly out of tune. They spent a good two hours involved with game and ignoring me until finally I'd had enough and stole the mike from Carlisle and belted out a familiar tune about stars floating in the dark. Emmett smiled, recognizing the song that first brought us together and after Alex reprimanded me for cutting into their 'bonding time,' things were much better between us all.

It was as if Dave Grohl himself had given us his blessing.

"Sweetness, you know it's rude to go all space cadet when I'm attempting to seduce you here." Emmett's voice is filled with his usual sarcasm and I blink, realizing that I had indeed drifted off. A real feat considering his mouth is now right above my knee and my skirt is up around my hips, my panties somewhere on the floor.

_Huh, how did that happen?_

"Sorry, babe. Just thinking." I offer as an excuse and I too wonder how I missed his artful teasing and seduction. I really have to learn to shut my brain off.

"No thinking. Thinking is a very bad thing right now, Rosie. It should be all Emmett, all the time." he smirks before returning his lips to my heated skin.

I laugh, ruffling his curls, albeit his _much_ shorter than normal locks. He tried out a new stylist last week and if I have anything to do with it, he won't be going back again. At least my ring doesn't get caught anymore but I do miss the way his waves would fall across his forehead, demanding I push them back. I look down at my hand, the white sparkle of diamond nestled amongst the raven of his locks stands out all the more. I still can't believe that I'm going to be his wife, that he even went to my parents and asked them for my hand.

And that they still shut the door in his face.

Not that I was surprised at that factor. Esme had been trying to talk them out of whatever it is that they've decided to hold against me for this long, to no avail. Why would Emmett make any difference? I will admit, when he told me what had happened (well, after I'd dragged it out of him) I was enraged. What had Emmett ever done to cause such a reception? Sure, if I'd been with him then it would be expected, if not somewhat normal. But just Emmett? Just some beautiful stranger wanting to discuss his love for their 'wayward' daughter and her 'bastard son?' Well it wasn't like I would expect their opinions to change, not after all these years. They decided a long time ago that I wasn't worth any trouble, wasn't worth the drama of adding anymore tarnish to the Hale name.

Emmett's family and the family I'd chosen to make from my friends were _more_ than happy for the both of us to forget he'd even bothered trying with my parents at all.

In the three years we've been together, I've never not felt that what we have is right. It is perfect. But in less than three months there will be proof on paper that he is mine as much as I am his. Forever more.

"Are you staring at your ring again?" Emmett asks with his usual dimple deep grin. The same grin he has whenever he catches me being fawning over the perfect sized rock that adorns my hand.

"A little," I admit, sweeping my fingertips down the side of his face where he leans his cheek into my palm.

"Well, I obviously wasn't doing a good enough job of distracting you, then was I?" He says, and I agree, shifting my legs further apart and whispering for him to go on.

He laughs, blowing a raspberry on my inner thigh before heading further up and I remember how well he knows my body. The little things he does, the teasing, the nips and licks and presses of that talented tongue and heated mouth have my legs shaking in his usual achingly slow build to my release. I've forgotten the dinner, forgotten about work and life outside what is still our 'bubble' and what we need and mean to each other. When he kisses his way back up my shattered and jello-like body, I press my lips to his and my fingers finally rid him of the last vestiges of clothing. So eager am I to taste and touch and revisit the hard muscle and tone of his body. The parts I love, the scars that tell many stories and the spots that make his toes curl and face blush.

I never thought or believed that I could be this happy. Never imagined I could be this secure in how my life has become now that I finally let someone in and believed that I was worthy of more than one night stands. Alex has only benefited from the love I've found with Emmett, the love that he not only showers upon me, but feels for my son. The day that Alex asked if he could just call him Dad to make it easier to explain to his friends who Emmett was and meant to him is a day I'll never forget. It might have sounded like Alex was trying to be offhand and all 'cool' about it, but I could see the nervous twitch to his eyes and the hesitant tone to his voice. He'd been so worried about it the first time he tried to talk to Emmett, he'd reverted to signing instead.

It would have been funny if Emmett hadn't taken a course in ASL so he and Alex could talk without me 'hearing' what they were saying, so he heard every word.

Emmett attempted to hide his absolute delight and pride in being asked behind a shrug of the shoulders and a 'Yeah, that'd be fine.' My boys were weird like that. So overly emotional at different times but when together, it had become a men's club that on the odd occasion I wasn't invited to. I really didn't mind if it meant Emmett and Alex were enjoying themselves and keeping each other entertained.

I'm trying to remember how long it has been since Emmett came home and made me come, to how long we have before Alex may step through the kitchen door. It's no good, I can only focus on Emmett and his hands, and mine travelling between his legs as he pulls me closer to the edge of the counter. When I ask him if we have time, he says what he always does. "We have all the time in the world." He's kissing my neck again and finally tells me that he locked the door. Yes, locked the door because he'd had one hung after a small incident involving nakedness, chocolate sauce and his sister walking in unannounced when we'd first started dating.

And with that knowledge, it's all systems go.

It's only with the incessant beeping of the oven, pre-baked bread rolls I'd picked up on the way home, that we break apart. Emmett's forehead rests against mine, his eyes as blue as the ocean and just as deep, whispering that I should leave it. I'm reminded of a dream I had so very long ago.

But this isn't a dream.

He isn't that guy I watched and fantasized about any longer. I'm here, in his arms and the reality is better than some dream sequence could ever be. For we aren't strangers in the subway anymore.


End file.
